It's been such a pleasure to write little poems here, although maybe they're not really poems. Poems should probably mean something, whereas I think mine are modest celebrations of the natural world. Also, I just like the sound of words.
I wrote this on recent trip to St. George.
Somewhere South on I-15
The slipping sun slants across
The long autumn grasses,
Spinning them into
Threads of gold,
Hemming the highway
As we drive toward dusk.
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