11.28

the steel blue river of ice bends

its swan neck amongst fifty foot

sentinels, balancing the browns

and needle golds below.

while the sweet fall wift of smoke

upon the wind echoes passages

of time and hearth and frost

edging lawns not yet asleep.

clarity of sight. sky splits etch

as in postcards, and nostrils

open without pretense before

the wisdom of evening air.

thank you for the beauty. thank

you for the simplicity. thank

you for the breathing and

feeling. and for being with you.

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