Craqueleur

Published August 19, 2015 by rlmcdermott

You smell
it first–
musky

dust on
a favorite
chair

flowers wilting
in a blue vase

shadows

You count
the lines
on your face

craqueleur

every bone
has a name
carved into it

nothing is
left unmarked

Then you
remember
bird song

a cone flower
growing on a
country road

cherry blossoms
falling in a
Kyoto gardenCracqueleur

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