Tanka
Pine cones filled with snow
litter the feet of tall firs
pointing ever skyward,
hairs on the back of the world
draped with miniature stars
Falling
false weightlessness of F
thrills, as branches breAk
time stutters, turns, tumbLes
earth mocks the sky and fLees
blurring – stomach churnIng.
Dirt becomes profouNd
– a final restinG place.
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