In place

This entry is part 47 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

 

Inside a cloud moved
rapidly by the wind,
I catch a whiff of wood smoke.

All the tracks have melted through,
erasures that say only
that something was there—

except for the trees,
still marooned on the same
round islands.

Series Navigation← EmergenceCold Front →

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