Trees move-
in a hot breeze
on coast-
bend and look sculptured
Past blows hard-
points east
ride the winds blow-
a jet stream
Sun's inferno-
burns letters
in my skin-
beating down
Sanctuary waits-
held close
under branches-
around me
Stop the burning, let me, and sculpted by the wind that moves east.
© right now, Denise A White
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