Under the bone of a mist-whirled fading moon,skeletal flowers are drip-laden, rotting yellow starsagainst the rain-glistened brown of soggy loam.Drifting through the mist-layered morning, soft as a whispertangled with chimney smoke, the descant of birdsong,and a fox’s tenor bark. Kim M. Russell, 3rd November 2025 For this week’s Quadrille Monday at the dVerse Poets Pub […]
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