Yet to be titled
By August
The lark steamed in the purple sun
Ready to snatch or farther run
Ready to move, and off to go
With a sarcastic "Cheerio!"
He baked until he simmered sparks
Hectic the day when we eat larks
Hectic the day when we outrun
the guilt that lives in purple sun
The house was empty, cool and still
A plate of glass, the windowsill
The hearts
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