May 2012
9 posts
May Winds
Crepe myrtle, full in the hips, the wind is upon us. He moves through your branches, Swaying them, gaining power, until they begin to thrash. Deeper he flows, into the depths of your shade. Your trunk bends like a neck releasing all of its tension, letting the heavy head loll. A gasp of panic— it’s as if your very roots may twist asunder. But the gust subsides, leaving you waving,...
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