Poetry / Uncategorized / Writing

Day 31 of 35

The summer has gone native here.
Our autumn generally subtle,
our orchards extinct,
few worry, except at night
when the houses won’t
let go of the heat.

It is a winter scene—
a bridge made new by snowfall.
I am bound by the black and white of it
and envy the photographer his choice:
to trample through,
or, leave it be.

**In response to Patrick Latter’s photograph (though he didn’t ask for one).

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