Branches & Roots

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I see a knotted redwood door
through this keyhole
blue eyes-always fixed on the new, lush curtains. Mind's vested—like your dollars on their implication.

Seek mine
—I wish as I watch the shadows grow outside.

The parking lot's empty
and the trees are gone. I think,
They're branches & roots & dust

Perhaps, they've always been that way,
the whole lot, too.

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