Photo by the author

Thunder on the bridge.
October in the air.

Lower the shutter speed.
Adjust the aperture.

Stand still against
the cold stinging mist.

Aim steady and shoot -
violence is captive to grace.

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Photo by the author

The sun splits through the black
of a passing storm. The trees pour down
on us while we walk,
even though the rain has all but stopped.
The river runs high.
We stroll along beside its hyper current,
her and I.
She buries her nose in the wet grass
while I study an uncertain sky,
still ominous…

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Photo by the author

That day came and went like any other.
Not like I feared it would.
Not like I feared it wouldn’t.
I watched the last of the water swirl down the drain,
stepped out and wiped away the mist from the bathroom mirror.
As usual, my cloudy reflection stared indifferently back.
What more could I wish for?
Multitudes……

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Photo by the author

I walked there once in some distant dream,
or was it a childhood reality?
That trampled path through a golden field,
tousled by the winds of summer,
sunlight on my face as warm as the memory
of simpler times that perhaps never were.

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Photo by the author

Sweeps over you like sudden wind
on a still afternoon,
blades of sunlight piercing the forest trees,
creaking wood in the dead of night
like ghostly footsteps -
the wisp of some old forgotten tune
sparked by memory or happenstance.

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