Micropoetry 4-18-2020

talking in her sleep
as the path of night
returns to the words
we buried in the light

for a moment
on the hilltop
she takes in the valley—
the whole world
in every breath
of early spring

waiting in the rain
until the world stops
and we stop with it

feet among the grass
early in the dawn
before the dew has burned
and there is still some time
to leave the world with a trace

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