WRP # 120

Field of Vision

The sky
is Wedgewood blue
above desolation.

Blackbirds flock
on an empty ebon carriage
in a sterile plain.

Looking west,
one tree stands
bereft of leaves,

as wings hover above.
Sun shines small,
cumulous billow

white on the horizon.
Rain never arrives
and there is no grain.

I dream this
each night,
expecting green.

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