Flood

The river was seeping
through tall grass.

A crow eyeing nothing
in particular.

Leaves      turning
to soil. The smell
hung like a yoke.

I sat against a dying (dead) tree—

I could tell when the bark came
off like an old lover…

Lichen grew thick.

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1 Comment

Filed under Poems

One response to “Flood

  1. vicklinde

    This is a wonderful piece.
    V.

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