sounds in the forest
continuous popping growl
ice sharp steel shredded
then massive slapshot CLACK
little voices yelling "goal"
sun sets early
slow snow falls
catching quiet on pine boughs
Saturday, January 4, 2025
Thursday, January 2, 2025
these are poems
these are poems
pulled from
fading metaphor mist
deep pocket hidden
in phantom robes
words etched and spun
from a mustard seed
or a glimpse
out a frosty windshield
that's all we have here
poems
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