The Shape Of Solitude With The Red Ants

it is easy to become
a cloud

a mist and then even be
part of the dust

it is the shape of solitude
assuming the bursting of some past joys

it is this feeling of leaves falling
from a dead tree

silently reaching the dry ground
where the red ants are waiting

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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