A Destroyed Niche

what we have here
are trees without leaves

upon these bald mountains
lay those fingers stretching

trying to hold the softness
of blue clouds

the rivers gone
what gazes us is this pool of stones

it is a scene of either
or,

we pack too
looking for another

more, wanting to escape
what we have destroyed

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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