Friday, March 21, 2014

March Twentieth

It's the first day of spring
and death is in the air

The box car is full
and slowly departs

Crammed with weary
old friends taking their
motivations with them

Into strange darkness
streaming downriver

The moon's sole
reflection white

Upon the surface
wave letting apart

Into well synchronized
angel moth wings

In motion appearing
to be saying goodbye

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