The Drought
Published on Wed, 20th Aug 2025 at 23:04
Low upon the lake, a docile crescent moon;
abash, yet stolid, and luminous to a fault.
The stars lays silent, affixed upon the sky,
and this thespian claims the night,
as a daughter purloins the south.
What of the black dahlias?
in repose they haunt the fields
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