Nothing
Trees toss their heaving branches in the wind
laden with leaves as thick as the air that settles
into the cracks of the afternoon, picked clean
by a silhouette cut away from the grey clouds
And how do I see it.
It fills the parking lot and the red dirt road
It echoes the constant cackle of the crows
and shapes the words of people walking by
It holds the wings of the plane, ascending
into a sky that is drooping with its weight
as if it has lain across the clouds in slumber
A giant hammock stretched between horizons.
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