Poetry Blogs (bulding)

Weeds snake through the cracks

cramped stilled leaves beside

clot a crusted creek.

The silt turns past a corner

reflected in a straining noon.

Branches overhanging wilt

as in idle hours the flock come

scrutinise the work made waste,

and retrieve far flung

logs and stones, whittled fare

for time now dried.

And the passenger that crushed

dried leaf in ha...

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