Sonnet: Oxygen

Not as many reds
but there are lots of golds
and rusts this fall, he says.
I painted my nails rust,
she says, rust is under-
appreciated, don’t you think?
Oxidation, he is thinking,
rust as a kind of slow burn
that leaves a patina.
Your hair is made of light
and flame, and some nights
I am the moth.
Oxygen, he thinks,
it is all about the oxygen.

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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