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Once Coppice. Twice Smoke.

Clouds still swirl
on blue day --
not here.

Billows from pillows
to window sills
are candles and blazes
left not behind --
rather, far above.

Sweat is a sleep trait
stolidly fated to drop
where it must belong --
the copse
of cardinal songs.
Posted byRomanFebruary 15, 2024Posted inPoetryLeave a comment on Once Coppice. Twice Smoke.

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