A bruise spreads slowly
across the afternoon.
Clouds clench.
Light retreats.
The first gust says,
Move.
The second says,
Now.
Somewhere a palm tree
regrets its life choices.
I regret nothing
except leaving washing out.
A bruise spreads slowly
across the afternoon.
Clouds clench.
Light retreats.
The first gust says,
Move.
The second says,
Now.
Somewhere a palm tree
regrets its life choices.
I regret nothing
except leaving washing out.
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