Thoughts move over a day | The shadows of clouds move across a landscape | touching | neither the earth nor the sun

Clouds moving over an April sun | Thoughts of empire or starfish / Exiles from a city of light / shadows banging at the gates / asking to be let in again / begging for a little lukewarm saltwater or a golden crown

Starfish shadows | Five-pointed words, giving them edge | Eyes move over a poem, and words | touch

As for these clouds, drifting across an empty pixel sky, they touch | nothing

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from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)

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