The last traces of blue sky shrink away.
A mass of moist gray swells in its place. Still, the budding maple leaves on the trees across the street reflect the golden hue of setting sun.
For a moment.
across
this mad inscape
purple tigers
for dVerse Poets’ Poetics: Naming the Rose (pubtended by Merril Smith). The Pub is open! Come join us.
Frank J. Tassone 
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