Autumn morning. Sun and cloud
cast a net of light and shadow
across the mountain; a shifting
pattern: background, foreground.
On the other side of the river,
a heron watches from a leafless
cottonwood. White ice floats
on the surface of the water.
Politics, war, corruption, pull
me out my self. I give the birds
stale cinnamon bread. I'm glad
it's a new day.
--
~ SB =^..^=
http://www.sbpoet.com
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