Creaking with the cold:
groaning, sugar-sprinkled pond.
Highway for a squirrel.
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Plunks of sky break glass.
Tiny ringlets: small, then large.
Spirals in a pond.
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Water flees away!
Restless waves reverberate.
The tire swing sways.
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Whirling with the wind,
ghostly whisks of red and brown
mirrored in the glass
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I especially like the breaking glass (as a born pluviophile) and the tire swing. But I’m still waiting to see a poem about the ark:)
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