Tree’s crooked fingers
Grasping at the moonlit clouds
Sound of footsteps
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Tree’s crooked fingers
Grasping at the moonlit clouds
Sound of footsteps
Monday
The birds’ songs begin
Hesitantly
Bluestem coated white
Amidst the towering pines
Hushed flickers of light
Morning moonlight
Runner follows his thoughts
Down the winding path
Neither rain nor snow
Wet, frozen indecision
Drifting through the beam