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Redwoods

March 13, 2016

The Sun sets West in the Orient
while behind me the trees rise
like the Future predicting what
we might believe.  These trees
are home for fish that swim in air
are keepers of the past in diaries
behind bark covers, lines written
in stripes, blank books as big as
arboreal elephants with green limbs
that won’t embrace us, or care, in Time.

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From → Poems

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