Fog of Innuendo 

It’s not what is said, but the tone of voice

The fog of innuendo painting fragments

Mouthing words of solace and confusion in the same breath

Leaving wonder in its wake 

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Deciduous 

Birch trees in December

Shedding what we cannot see, parting ways

The past standing in the moment, feelings linger

Fallen leaves and bare branches feel differently against my skin

One healing the other, vice versa, back and forth

Embracing impermanence, letting go

Summertime Nostalgia 

Moments ripen, falling off trees

Scents of youth congregating midair, hovering – waiting for a breeze

Footsteps running, collecting in silos, overflowing, rolling downhill

Laughter’s arms wrapping around me, a tight embrace that won’t let go

Sunlight’s release, captured on my face

Head tilting back, eyes closing, soaking in through open pores

Summertime – here, now, imprinted 

Nostalgia to be tasted forevermore