Poem: bleu

wrinkles shift beneath tattered sand

bushy bristles curve in gentle slopes

pointed high towards the evening sky




chirps crowd the dewy air 

Mixed with the melody of a howl 

hoots pierce the clouds,

twisting and slipping between fluffy snow

like a dainty blunt needle

clicking a tat-tat briskly against its twin 




springs of fushia paint the stars

smears of a galaxy of lights dot the inky blackness of the mountains’ silhouettes

trills coat the sigh 

dropping like a wayward slip of a leaf from its guardian oak tree






deep within the senior’s breast, a cackling fire raged 


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