with this poem the one of mine that follows comes to mind:
Forecast
Sun
is memory
of tangerine mist.
Warmth of day
sucked up like a vacuum
into darkening autumn blue.
Wind
makes cold music
with a flagpole and its cable—
the ping ping ping
a forecast
to my bones.
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with this poem the one of mine that follows comes to mind: Forecast Sun is memory of tangerine mist. Warmth of day sucked up like a vacuum into darkening autumn blue. Wind makes cold music with a flagpole and its cable— the ping ping ping a forecast to my bones.