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Page 23

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Before skies clear
anything is possible.
A universe hovers
behind a gray
veneer. A black
eternity sprinkles
with bright spots.
My life in a vacuum,
vast spaces separate
each thing I need
in abundance,
blocked only
by a thin layer
of water vapor.

  Richard Dinges, Jr.__


A hole gnawed deep
in hollow between
spine and rib, gut
and heart, I hunger
for you, abstain
to consume your glance
only, a brief warmth
between palms, from
breath to exhale
to speak my name,
what only I hear
to fill my void
never sated
always hungry
for more after
you turn away.

  Richard Dinges, Jr __

                      © CTvM: Mooi Nieuw-Nu-Now[1]

Out Here

Trees block horizons
briefly, slowly reveal
a broad expanse,
leaves shed. Sky
broadens. A deeper
blue crushes sun's
last blazing fury.
Vultures soar high
in slow circles,
able to see far
ahead into death,
drift over me.
I flail my arms,
unable to fly.

  Richard Dinges, Jr__

Morning Mist

Pond's pale spirit
hovers. An aged
gray too frail to last,
between a deep
blank sky and a still
reflective sheen,
thin enough to elude
gravity. Water
whispers at dawn
before day's loud
rays disperse this
pause, this morning
revealed, reborn.

  Richard Dinges, Jr__