In the folds
of her dark green
sweater
lie hills and valleys
of sunlight and shadow,
each one a new horizon
across her form.
She walked ahead of me,
her face looking forward,
pale sneakers
marking the pavement
with disappearing steps.
1 comment:
Now that's a more "traditional" poem. That way of describing the sweater turns over in your mind awhile after you finish it.
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