Maybe tomorrow, not tonight

 

the last smoke

Is 

Left in the air

Chortling

like a snake

Mingling with every ray

Of sunshine

up the trees that sway

Under the cerulean skies

The blue with the marbling pink

Like thundering clouds

the autumn tries to

Hoist us up again

To

where we gave up the stars

Outside the bleeding dusk

we gaze to its soft

Temper

the crackles between

the sweet quires

that makes us lean our heads

To our right

To

The birds migrating

With the somber wind

each with

a beat in the heart

and a lost feather

dropping from the sky

Is closeness

that up is not really far 

from our hands

a bristle of flight

far far from winter

where it goes.




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