What is endless?
What is
endless,
what is
true?
A brush of
leaves,
rough clip
of bark.
The sun
endures,
this
ever-blast
of precious
light,
a pure
being.
Even the
rain can’t
seek to
quench it,
this burnished
spill
where we
stand.
What is
here
is never
truly lost.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, March 11, 2021
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