April sings warm through
soft afternoon, pink air on my lips
that tune in my ear, you on my mind.
A brook trickles over jagged rocks,
I cross, balancing on sharp slippery stones
happily stretching my foot to shore.

Now, I sit on a stone wall, sad
like Humpty Dumpty
walk miles rocky over wooded path of mud
skeletal remains of leaves left dead
to stamp, tromp, tramp on
soil’s brown hybridized with a tree’s innards,

Published in “>Vita Brevis Press

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