By Mike O’Connell
there was a shadow
of a shape a shade
weaving through the trees
rushing to nothingness
a furious mystery
searching for perches
in trees
that no longer stand
disturbing webs of spiders
strung in times gone by
existing only in expired
realities but humming still
to welcome the sun
and all of its shapes
shadows scampering
into tomorrow
as it if were nothing
but a prelude to the past


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