Writing Poems With Cup of Coffee to my Left

Our Park


seeming to grow
out of air.

I am 
seeing the park
this morning
through autumn eyes.

A thin coat
of ice over each individual
grass blade.
Many leaves
drop through
white air.

Autumn ears, also. 
Chatter of magpies,
louder than usual.
A dog barks.

Pant legs shuffle.

Then silence.

I snap a photograph
of a
tree in fog.

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