In the lone white oak
A solitary squirrel
Calls out for its mate
Category: Sadness
Missing
In a copse of trees
Entwined in vines, a slowly
Rusting tricycle
Passing
I caught your eye then
I glanced down at my cell phone
And you kept walking
Dust
We of painted clay
Molded from the living earth
Destined to return
Passage
The vessel broken
one soul escapes to freedom
with a final breath
Tears
Tiny rivulets
Reveal traces of pink skin
Down her dirty cheeks