Even half a moon
Is enough to wet the sky –
Deep blue northern night.
Clouds blowing across the sky
Winds pushing their tails along
Even when there are no poems
Nothing remains the same.
Even here
Bathed in solitude,
Crows calling each other home.
Distant mountains
Softening into blue haze
The wind the wind
Restless as ever.
Wearing the sighs of the world
The old walnut tree flexes to the wind.
Shift, change and adapt,
Motion never ceasing.
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