They trim the trees, I eat leftover Chinese - Nov. 8, 2023
- Gary Hunter
- Nov 8, 2023
- 1 min read
limbs crash leaves follow the downdraft
holes and gaps appear in the canopy
all that summer shade shredded for
the future fingers of a winter sun
fresh new light to invite
morning coffee and poetry
because a shivering hand
can’t write with emotions frozen
a poet needs to feel the letters
scale them like fruit
at the farmer’s market
touch then pick the best
unbruised but soft
whiffed for flavor

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