Wednesday, September 14, 2011


I throw stones at the setting sun
it ripples
but is still round

I stare at the evening sky
A flock of birds heads home
Except the one who got lost

Some leaves fall from the trees
the price
of having been swayed by the wind

A dog with his chin to the ground
Stares at his reflection
I'll drink later, he thinks.

Chatter and hum disturbs my reverie
A wind blows over the drain
I pinch my nose and move on

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