“beneath swallowtail clouds…”

 

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beneath swallowtail clouds
of a small town dusk
an ensemble of crickets attempts harmony
with squeals of hide and seek two lawns down
as I, in my seclusion, pen in hand
pretend to write
my eyes, traitors,
leave the pages
to follow snow-white butterflies
in a fandango through deep-well
shadows of magnolia leaves
and as the long-fellow legs
of a day’s death
stretch in thin disarray
across my ink,
I resign myself to the same fate
as the golden arrows being plucked
by a breeze from sycamore trees
surrendering, to the season
and the swallowtail clouds
of a small town dusk

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