Haikuesday Returns
We, still in shadow
They, on a faraway hill
Lit an antique white.
The sea air plays tricks
The bumps and swellings of hills
Co-conspirators.
Some light etches depth
This light flattens, erases.
There. And Here. Same thing.
I will miss all this
When our clocks refuse to budge:
Taking Back Sunday.
A least for an hour
Heralding almost six months
Of light-shifted days.
D.S.T. Haiku?
Why not? Trices of beauty
Are where you find them.
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