June 17

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poetry

Escape to the mountains
to see what endures–

the sun-baked alpine
packed dirt and scree

fiery wildflowers
strange butterflies

warming afternoons
a rock comes loose–

quiet more profound
after its absence

tread lightly
almost as if trespassing

on scalloped snowfields
glaciers, blue-hued, nearly holy–

if they won’t last
what could?

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