Greg Mosson
Sunspots
Cloud drift speckles leaves;
a plane writes across the sky . . .
I have traveled far.
A light-burst knifes me.
I plunge through memory chutes
back to this garden.
Behind me, windows
of my friend's house shine with sheer
unblinking brightness.
A blue swimming pool—
diving through humid, blank air,
I’m fluid as grass.
© Greg Mosson
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