she, the autumn leaves,
as thin time, golden, freezes —
sleeping life's branches
###
morning spring stillness;
she rests — repose in quietude:
her sapling will sprout.
###
winter's end is she:
a crisp coolth, thin sun and breeze —
incandescence, now.
###
Eyes, dark river stones —
her look: rivulets of joy.
My soul, mystified.
###
wind carries her voice,
hear the song of ears' delight;
music's balmy breeze
###
cracked mountain, seething
sending heat spigots, gushing —
death's fountain, living.
###
the wind strokes the skin;
her look is as the breeze, gusting —
soothing the brow, now.
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