A sun-drenched morning --
The roses are turning brown
After days of heat
A slow feral dog wanders
On the banks of the dry creek
Five or six sparrows
Searching the short dry grass
By the small madrone
The pieces of a letter
Torn up and then thrown away
It's no use pretending
That we can ever make up
After what was said
Scrolling the text-messages
And the story of a loss
In the old novel
She finds herself reflected
And a sense of calm
As the waxing gibbous moon
Casts its light upon the town
A careful coyote
Silently seeking some prey
Behind the garage
A box of abandoned books
Gathering mold and dry leaves
The broken windows
Of the abandoned strip-mall
And the torn up road
Curving around the cluster
Of quince that are in full bloom
The bicyclists race
Through the early morning park
Past the spectators
Hoping for at least a glimpse
Of their favorite sports hero
At the posh hotel
Thick sheets of snow and the wind
Drifting through the door
Images from the future
And images from the past
Between two trees
Planted a few years ago
The sound of angels
Dancing on the field of time
As the cherry blossoms fall
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