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Of things pinching:

bare feet on morning's frost

... a departing wave.

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(QR Code)

Bones ...

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A taped box

best unnamed, unsent

best left to folds, to creases

unmended and left

... a taped box.

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No fade

these shadows in the rain

... no trade.

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Wading in, she dreams again
of spilling shadows
... into river.

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(Inspired somewhat by Allyson Kalie at Flickr)

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Dead sparrow
Back! Too black!
... too far some shadows.

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Though just a memory
her voice, her face
... sting enough.

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Things that burn:
a frail glimpse of what is loved
... beyond reach.

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