My silence reasons with your silence.
Scissors along laketop shift the path of boats
and pebbles in the parking lot
trucks nudge that sound small.
Havasu is a demeanor that we live as anyone
would breathe in spare momentum.
Conjecture reverts to play of objects undercast
by siloes of convivial respect.
Look at this world and how we're bound by fate that it will go away,
as stated by someone who'll never know.
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1 comment:
Hey!
Thanks Sheila :)
Crescent
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