Where Is She

I stand and wait
when will she come home?
I sit and stare
the sun is going down.

Blue turns yellow
I turn away from my own
love and terror
following her cologne.

Light leans gray
colors lose their morning
by the time doves
and starlings look the same.

Now outside under
maples and elms I hear
what I want to hear
her thunder in the distance.

I sit and wonder
when will she come home?
staring at the plum
tree the day is gone.

Why should I stew
as if she’s never been
missing for a few
dark blue minutes?

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
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