Park Ekphrastic Without Park
First day of fall finds me in mourning—something about 50 Fahrenheit I’m not ready for,might never be ready for the rest...
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Joy found in the absenceall about us.
Nothing singedand everything easy.
Harvest pumpkinsglow burnt orange,
smoldered yellow.A cat comes
offeringin its mouth a songbird
pink as greasejust after the...
