Watching the Sunrise

The golden knife slices

through the the lime hills

of morning glory,

beginning a story.

The thrill of unknown

unshown

unspoken

threads sewn

between two halves

hands clasped.

Shimmering blades

of grass

green glass

in a homemade windchime

of beer bottles,

the sound of sunlight.

Winter kisses Spring

I’ve seen

a purple flower

grow in frost;

all is not lost.

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