-- Wyn Cooper
The abstraction of Rothko
square clouds on canvas 
The drips of Pollock
rain that pours down 
Snow squall lip balm
hands in our pockets 
The dream of spring
still just a dream 
Dust swirls in our eyes
motes from the past 
Flames singe skin
no math explains that 
The sadness of computers
the looks on cows’ faces 
Vespers vespers vespers
the quietude of hours 
Trees blow sideways
sun gone for the season 
Four cold days in a row
count our blessings 
Table set for two
the aroma of garlic 
Coyote crying in the night
stars that never end

[via Blackbird Fall 2013 ]

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