SEASONS
Summer is land-locked, a prism
in light - my long arm covers
the sky. I am wishing for four
things, and you. Atop this brief
mountain, I have climbed to an
erudite hillock - now it seeks,
in talking to me, to let me know
of the living and the dead. 'As if
there is a difference,' I swear, I
heard, it said.
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