A crisp evening
the pasta perfectly al dente
light clinging to the sky
like legs of wine
finally quiet
caesura–
and no one claps
through the pause–
everything in harmony
except that door, ajar
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OPTIONAL POETRY 
Brilliant! The legs of wine, and that door!
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Thank you, and thank you very much for sharing. It’s been an unexpectedly while away
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My pleasure!
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Reblogged this on O at the Edges and commented:
C’s language, like the evening in the poem, is perfectly crisp.
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