Monday, April 16, 2012

Absolute Limen

We sit in the back
against the forest in April
at the border of Spring. She is
still sad as the dusk gathers
and will probably remain so.
I watch the filaments
in the trees get finer,
uncountable threads of shadow,
nets of shadow, lace, and the
catching webs of vine,
thinner and finer until we
fall into darkness.

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