Drenched in a nor’easter
wet to frozen bone
the bull stands his ground
he swallows the storm.

The swimmer follows feathered
clouds across the last twinkle
of dark morn before peeling
off his parka and diving in.

After years of seasoned
random come and gone
hooved traffic the road
still knew where it went.

The barn took all in
whoever wondered whether
warm was better including
the mountain and shooting star.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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