for lack of

these hands, showing age,
display no tokens of love,
pull weeds from the dirt.

scummy little stream

a minute, a moment

gulls cut a pure arc
grey mist clings in tangled hair
cold front coming in

015

before chance

footprints in wet snow
caught by the wind! sudden calm
scent of grass lingers

snow-grass

Illusion Conclusion

horizon shimmers
illusions rise in the heat
sharp tears, starry eyes

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