Clouds caress the trees.
Stories are for eternity. (Tim O’Brien said that)
A photograph of a thing unseen
“Wild horses could not drag me away,”
Before I could spell.
Where the world is as it must be
She looked like someone
I used to know, love, back then,
Before it blew up.
Distant mountain peaks,
Summer, a memory.
On the river, we float among the reeds