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  • Gary Hunter

Those could be God’s Fingerprints - Dec. 2, 2022

parallel ridges of dirty clouds

smudged onto this November sky

floating above the grim majesty

of naked trees dotted

with stubborn brown leaves

replacing the colors of summer

with a cold wind emptied of sweetness


in a gloom tinged with gray

the shift moves deeper


sobering images everywhere

yang replaced by yin


in the dearth of light

a kind of surrender

a shift in hope

an abysmal longing


how different the poems

started on fall days

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