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Dark branches veining into gray skies.

I always miss the moment

pink blossoms flood their arms.

Shift in the winds. Your eyes

grow soft and rest, hushed, on the air before me.

Sun on a newly-wet hillside.

The storms have been especially sudden

this year, gulls giving us hardly any warning,

wild pirouetting through skies split

by sunlight and darkness, before clouds break

into water, wring sudden rivers on us.

You take off your jacket just so,

sweeping light through me.

Any plausible action wrested from the mundane.

Trembling all down my skin.

The faint aroma. The brief bloom.

When I face you, I can almost taste the coming rains.

Posted 02/25/19
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