REPLENISH

Highway papers scatter the road.

Yesterday’s news pressed against

the inside of a factory fence. The sky

is rose red. The air is moist. There are

no songs but the wind gusts a tune.

 

The clouds resemble casual caring hands,

resting like sleep while building silently into

towers over a landscape full and willing.

 

A light mist swirls over everything like

crushed diamonds falling into open space.

It is a day of weather. A watering. A time to

replenish.

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