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Click hereSunlight makes the white
so much brighter, back lighting clouds.
and they look like snow,
yes, smell like it too.
Morning air frosts pumpkins
and golden leaves that linger still.
I walk, stirring those that lie, crunching
them under boot heels.
They fall, but they are not muck
in a gutter, at least not yet.
They remain for a shutter click
then dead in a black and white photo.
There is wonderful movement in the poem from life to photograph and then just a complete stop with that "dead" in the last line. Always a pleasure to read you, Neo. :-)
a neonurotic poem and I was happy,
great imagery,
They fall, but they are not muck
in a gutter, at least not yet.
They remain for a shutter click
then dead in a black and white photo
a photograph in my mind