Thunder thinks not
thunder thinks not
of consequences--
beheads the lilies
how the rain poured liquid angels
at our feet-- became retribution
for lost dead heads
cold monday
bahian music plays softly as the cold gray darkens near four p.m. in central upstate n.y. practicing on an old upright piano facing a stream, shared with five cats racoons deer, chickadees and sparrows apple orchard across the street catches the departing light then the land grows blanketed with a quick heavy snow soon in the darkest night sky... a million stars lighting our way to freedom
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