in limbo at this witching hour
the trembling of a withered limb
by westerly winds, warmer than yesterday,
shakes nascent leafbuds —
wicked juxtaposition! cruel you are
to offer, at a glance,
arms both abrasive and wizened
yet somehow fertile,
proud linear shapes
caressed by the breeze into
humble arabesques,
picked out by a dusky glow
that is not day, not evening,
all golden and neither here nor there.
disgruntled, i am yanked
from security into someplace
less defined.


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