Three Words At a Time
Quiet Sunday morning.
Tantrums of birds
In the mystery
Of magic distance.
Backyard patio cigarette
Wafts smoke through
The brisk fresh
Air, and me
Waiting to propel
Through the wooded
Green, like prophets
Hungry for salvation.
My December sweatpants;
Not to be denied.
Copyright © Matt Caliri | Year Posted 2010
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