A Year of Poems – Day 343

To look up at the close,
The sun burned to embers
Seared softly to pupils
Petals pressed to snow
Melted into ice prints
In this autumn-spring
Fire leaves float to earth
Ash sprinkled across peat
The peat burns like clouds
To look down is to look up
At the first planted seed
For the world sprouts to destruction
Seeds curling in smoke
Trees brushing this new dawn.


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