Your demeanor does
not shine
through
the
clouds. No
calendar scene with
sun rays illuminating
treetop foliage.
Crooked
roots
filled with
mounded moss is
all I've to
examine. It's
dark
down
here- shadowed,
even at noon.
I won't assume.
This silent
open
wondering,
which lingers
on the edge
of the field,
I can
handle.
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