Dearest sun: Your hue has softened — The color of organic egg yolks, Dipping below the tree line, Hushing evening earlier each day. Dearest crickets: You chirp for your next mate, saying, “Hey girl, come find your summer love!” But your abundant song, for me, is a melancholy Reminder: this season grows short. Dearest morning: …
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If it involves words, it involves me.
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