My town grown spilled over
banks between buttes roses
Black Tartarian Cherry
two hundred years old sinks
propped up to be a tree heavy more
a place to run from while saying this
to a heart that waits dripping misted
the town that is the tree I mean
the metaphor is perfect but misses
constantly ignores the traffic
on the overpass loud the riffles
scooting down the river loud
the train still making its way through.
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