Burning the tissues

This entry is part 30 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses


In a snow-bound ring of stones,
I am burning all the tissues
from my recent cold.

The sun beats down. Fallen twigs
and leaves are melting themselves
into form-fitting graves.

A flat wing of ash floats up
and hangs in the air
like a famous last word.

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