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Breadcrumb #382

July 13, 2018 by Bob Raymonda

ARIEL FRANCISCO

The temperature refuses to drop
like the the leaves that hang cozy
in their green without worry,
quiverless in the stilling humidity— 
the only trees leaking their colors
are those yanked down by storms,
not yet introduced to the churning
jaws of waiting woodchippers,
hungry as the unbudging season.

• • •

July 13, 2018 /Bob Raymonda
summer heat, poetry, verse, poem, breadcrumbsmag
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