what a misty day, my reflection the only one

who I can console, shining in my soup bowl

still sweet, though I’ve lost my way

my siesta with an old photograph

a stone face, was the flower blossoming

your warm breath, under snow

from flower to moss, a chilling moon

what did you drink?

round and round…

went the glass bottle

windblown in the grove

soft drizzle and still alone


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