Micropoetry 5-7-2020

as I hold
the spring leaves
I see the prior years’
have fallen brown
and drifted away

among the thicket
where all the world
sits silent
as a fallen leaf

within the strands
as time dissolves
in clouds we see
but cannot touch

beside the white oak
gnarled with the stories
that would take four other
human lives to tell

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