Spending Time
Scattered shattered shards of mirrors
Sparkle in dissipating smoke
A hungry hawk crisscrosses the darkening field
Searching for supper in the dead winter weeds
A single cloud caught in lower winds
speeds across the slower mass above
To disappear like some magic trick
Directly in front of the setting sun.
Last night four deer browsed beside us
We wait patiently sipping the last flute
Three each per sunset and no hurry
This is our time.
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