Patricia
Sometimes, at the edge of the pasture
under the eaves of trees, the soft
greens of spring slide through my eyes
and paint the curves and shadows of
you to float like the bare-bottomed moon
settling softly into the grass out there
where the sky is sliced from the earth
as clean as if by a surgeon’s scalpel.
Copyright
Vol Lindsey
12/29/2019
Copyright © Vol Lindsey | Year Posted 2022
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