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A rickety iron bridge
worn out by time,
roofless, look up
to an intriguing sky.

My spirit leaped out,
a meteor shower, along
with the blue moon and stars;
it looked down at me.

Epiphany, not a dead one
ferns sprout from cracked walls –
mute spectators to life.

The raintree standing on the right
homeless, dipping its leaves
into the stream,
meanders through me,
the moss-covered bridge –
transient. It was my place, ours,
yours and mine. Homeless.
the landscape
drew cumulus green;
the full moon shattered,
falling in the dark night,
its pale glow
fringed the head of trees,
in the muted sky.
my backyard was outlined
by the frayed edges
of the moon, its ghost like images.
I swept the rooms;
in the woods nearby
moss steadily crept
and consumed my backyard.

— The End —