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Dappled
The path is thin, the land high,
tree lines and rocky outcrops
lean into each other.
My dog bounces away,
she's found some dappled deer; spooked
they run across my trace.
It’s another Smoky Mountain moment,
a dance-stepping poem
framed by shafts of sunlight.
A dog, and a bunch of white tails,
their softly pixelated images,
filtering across my eyed,
I sense an angel looking over my shoulder
she also is holding a camera.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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