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so long the hoofprints stayed among these ones
whose broken secrets
sounded like a flute

of rain and winter

this rain at dawn
empties itself

on the dusty flowers….

your wintered voice
whole in what is left of you

alone

over the quiet

and trembling plain….

equinafutura
12.16.14

Text: ©2014 Lance Henson
Image: ©2014 Barbara Bartlett