The Evening skin is bruised morning petals,
Clots the immense secret of a day.
Comes home
to be
Consumed by a shower,
Pronounced through liquid,
Slithers down crystal clear,
A tale of people,
and
Dirt.
(One more for the road. This one was re-discovered by my students when they were rifling through my sketchbook. They said it is quite good, not bad sia!)
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