By Iris Llewellyn Angle » Photo by John Patota
I wrap sunshine around my shoulders,
not to keep warm but to remember.
Sky so blue, I cannot describe.
Maybe the blue John Glenn saw when he
looked back at Earth on his space-ride.
I hear a giant pine tree groan,
then a stick sprouts wings and flies,
grasshopper foreign in February.
Pinecones float on a sea of non-ocean sand,
sandhills sand spiked with pin...
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