Sing-u-lari-T

Sing♦u♦lari♦T

this pittance of time
on these eire-y shores
from broken branches
i tied my breath
alive for all to see
stammering phrases
of ineloquence
my fingers fly
this sorrow into a cloak
to shelter
around trees; i bend
on that graceful arching stem
the cedar betrays the wind
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