Posted in Odd poetry

poem

in the dawn of august,
no longer day,
still, not quite night
but soon enough
soon an inky blackness

the wind has gone to sleep
pines reflect in a colorless mirror
calmly, still and quiet

a lonely diver
a solitary cry
a nippy emptiness

(inspired by a bad photo taken in august 2008, poem written Sep 27, 2014)

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