Sunday, November 3, 2019

November 2, 2019



my pipe’s warm stem
slow burns its bowl inside my hand
holding first this pipe, then this pen
I’d been outside
stood a moment to admire pink blossoms
on a rhododendron 
that had fallen
A coal train passed this way today.
I’d heard they’d stopped.
So that’s not true.



Dick Russell © 2019, 2024





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