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Four Lines

November is a homeless month
weather neither fall nor winter
endlessly it wanders bitter
cloaked in grey

Poetry

Four Lines

it’s November and an hour past
sunrise but clouds roost overhead
grey impenetrable soft-edged
reluctant I switch on my lamps

Poetry

Four Lines

I strain my ears for the quiet
sounds that travel light on the fall
wind like the cheep of a roosting
bird half-muffled by falling leaves

Poetry

Four Lines

the wind shook the trees by their leaves
till the woods echoed with the roar—
a dry, cry of friction so low
it vibrated through my heels

Poetry

Four Lines

out secondhand shopping we found
a half-off goodwill then final
day estate sale—we went home well
pleased with just-right finds and dear friends

Poetry

Four Lines

Mac is an extra large Lab who
horizontal spreads a yard all ways—
imagine a man-sized hallway,
a dog, and painstaking steps through

Poetry

Four Lines

Four Lines

Mackie was a pup alone tossed
beside the river—on seeing
my car he scratched at the door then
climbed in to sleep on my lap

Poetry