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Jennifer Wallace – Ⅰ





Flat gray and moss green. Tapestry.

And occasionally, God’s breath: wind.


A last leaf flutters like a long-ago kiss.














The wind has shifted

and gusts now over a roofless heart.

Bone-smooth logs teeter on the cobbles, sun nudges through.


A single feeling rises

like the seal pup’s doe eyes

lifting from under the metal waves.














Whoever said the world should be clear?

Without the sun’s big gleam, there’s more to see:

the thump of thought, your real shadow.