Posted in Poetry

First Hint

Posted on by Jeanne

Copyright free image. 
His words appeared
as green shoots
in frozen brown
and I waltzed into
the memory of smell,
a fragrance he once wore
on the crisp autumn air. 

The seasoning chimes 
and the raw breath released,
he floated away 
with me
curving through the cumulus
and running breeze.

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8 thoughts on “First Hint”

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