Here and Gone August [2023]
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Here and Gone August [2023]
The leaf green rake of an arm rasps against my window.
Brushing back and forth with each and every blowy breeze,
these humid doldrums of here and gone August.
A tree's hands can be so thin,
his arms are sticks.
They look anorexic.
Brushing back and forth with each and every blowy breeze,
these humid doldrums of here and gone August.
A tree's hands can be so thin,
his arms are sticks.
They look anorexic.
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