Tuesday, November 26, 2013

the four legged beast plunges off course



and the leafy fodder rustles
freeing from the moisture's cling
and the wind catches the loose tendrils
escaping the warming of my hood
the rhythm of each swung gait
a slowing pendulum
when the crisp breath of morning whispers
would you turn
would you come
if called a name not your own

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