Gerry Bravi, CA




a thrush sings
the message loud and clear
without words



in a rippled sky
the splash of primary colors
water at evening



bright autumn day
pen in hand I wonder
what to leave out



no words come
I set out to find something
and missed what was



what dreams await
beyond despair



shadows fall
another strip of sun
slips away



late November
old leaves touching
new snow



a heron fishing
does he sense something where I
perceive nothing



joggers on the path
do more than their shadows
chase them



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