Feb 11
In the moments
between sunset and dusk
the winter wheat
seems the color
of dark red wine,
and the fields
wave with motion
not unlike a purple sea~
water…but not,
before my eyes.
On a slight hill
against the pink-plum sky
one wooden
ordinary & vacant chair
(barely a silhouette)
sits beneath
a lone leafless tree
above a dancing
earth’s infinite
fingers.
nannette kennedy
february 2013
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