Hazed by August heat,distant greens and blues
wash shadows of pine
with moist purples.
The green goes on, they say;
sky maintains its roots.
By night pitch-sweet silhouettes
penetrate black soil.
Outside office windows
good things cross the border,
glide twisted furrows,
seed, green, shoot up like weeds.
Copyright 2009 by Thomas L. Kepler, all rights reserved
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