RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Vases Of Time
Empty-sounding promises die on limbs of deadened trees.
Echoing forever down trunks, repeating phrases of sound
Jarring memories in vases of time, watering them at
inopportune hours, so they may live bittersweetly and
Bubbling into atmospheres of archaic cloud formations,
stretching themselves elastically into many years to come.
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