Crafting

Ugly, but I made
it, my hands imparting new
life to odds and ends.

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Maxfield Parrish

Girls on rocks artist
his blues so luminous they
named one after him

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Winter sun

Summer is golden
butterscotch, January
skim milk, thin weak pale.

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All nighter

Weighing sleep against
productivity, I write
into a new day.

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Marriage

Some–like white wine–are
best when young. My French Bordeaux
grows better with age.

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On cutting off long hair

Strands layered, length chopped,
I change, shed years, fears, regrets.
Why’d I wait so long?

Snow blind

Spiraling flakes, like
small hands opening wide, feel
their way down to earth.