A Mourning's Breath
The morning’s mist,The condensed dreaming breath
Of a verdant vestige,
Once rolled across the prairie
Like kneaded dough,
Sat cupped in soupy valleys,
And steamed from waters clear and cold.
Now it hides in the gray haze
Of steel mountains,
Lies still across barren stumps,
And sits stagnant
Atop the brown water
Of lakes unused.
A morning's breath suffocated
By a rising sun.
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