~rue

to be a lonely tree on a lonely hill
rooted deep with grief

what once connects to me, leaves

august grieves
again, the weightless fall
small hours of my mourning

watch a whitewashed woman in her
uncertainty fade with the fog
her aimless stroll
her milk-heavy ache

watch the warbler, bare-breasted
nesting wheat with tangled verses

threading condolence the color
of poetry

lah  7.8.15

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