a waft of cinnamon
in the mountain village —
her homemade tea
orphanage
someone draws family
on a cold car glass
a waft of cinnamon
in the mountain village —
her homemade tea
orphanage
someone draws family
on a cold car glass
funeral procession
a car with one headlight
brings up the rear
dusk
from the foreclosed house’s chimney
bats
Halloween dawn
rising in the cemetery
a vagrant yawns
house entrance
I walk on the trilobite
embedded on a step
wrinkled hands
adding traditional flavor
to the pickle
converging into a point
the distance
I travelled
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