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Friday’s Resurgent Exhalation

Dead awhile
I wake, a windmill
rust bittered creak
hunted/hunting
interminable, bright
spilled between
cloud shred
and
dinosaur frond fingers
wrack side to side
half morning gone
the air too thin
for summer’s
leaf bent sighing

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Published November 13, 2021By C S Hughes
Categorized as Poems Tagged waking, weary, windmill

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