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  • Thomas Kam

dawn redwood at sunset

blackened, wizened, deep-based thing

the late light scratches scarlet grooves

in to the trunk

and there are ancient reservoirs

of fingernails

and secret human stories

and the wind

is a blind carpenter

and the turning earth

an eraser

and the sky the skin of an eye

blinking away


and centuries

like grit

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May 16

So stunning. Your poems speak directly to the soul of things that the mind has forgotten. Thank you for sharing.

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