Farmers market stalls
in newly arrived cold. She would crawl
into a Silva
Cell to live among the roots
she never got to touch before going
to hell and back
with a pail of structural soil. Would step
over pervious
pavers to catch even a glimpse of you
conversing with a large red
oak before another civil twilight breaks
apart light.
beautifully done!
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I really enjoy your poetry,
Peace,
Laz
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Thanks Laz!
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