5 may 2021
Thinking Off
The clouds hang on the strings.
I cannot dry my eyes.
Picking up the pine cones, on grass―
one by one, as the years went by.
How did I lose my home again?
Were there not footprints in snow?
The caladiums, you planted in
summer, had the crimsoned spots.
Like the kirmizi sun
dipping in lake one night.
7 june 2025
wiesiek
6 june 2025
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5 june 2025
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4 june 2025
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3 june 2025
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2 june 2025
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13 may 2025
marka
13 may 2025
marka
9 may 2025
wiesiek
6 may 2025
Eva T.