Walk the rails under a high blue sky. Find the sag in the leaning fence, and step--carefully--over rusted wire. Follow a peninsula of blond grasses through a lake of loam, and come, at last, to the timber's edge where gray branches trace the sky and rose hips curl near purple canes.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
summer verse
Summertime, when light lingers longest, and life, unquenched, stays up twirling stories through warm and welcoming nights.
I cherish the verbal alertness of "unquenched" and "twirling"!
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