Dust falls through my fingers. I reach down and grab another handful. Sage and withered birch are all that break up the ashen plain. There should be light, but too many thunderclouds blot out the sun.
another rumble
not a drop falls from the
midnight black sky
first published in Image Curve, May 3, 2018
for DVerse Poets OLN #219, pubtended by Bjorn
Frank J. Tassone 
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