Secret Ingredients
Wind
the wind whips and snarls
down across the galleries
with malice at heart
–
whispering pines-
deep in conversation
with the trees
Detritus
washing off the day
a trail of discarded clothes
strewn out behind her
–
disturbed reverie-
on my journey
an empty snake skin
Deluge
one final look back
collar turned up against the
horizontal rain
–
spring peepers-
the rain of snare drums
on the forest floor
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