992
things
show up in odd places
impossible
to predict
the
next door chooks
lost
socks
parsley
in the weed heap
sun
first thing shows east
or
snout told little traipse along
things
unaccountable
larger
than life
turn
up
for
the books
comet
for sky smear
season
there
the
fence unstuck
temperature
everywhere
only
in the room
breakfast
in the branches
voices
of least birds
and
ourselves along
an
itch, an ache
even
laughter augments
in a
calendar of other days
can’t
call epiphany
it
comes
a
sharp
a
flat
something
diminished
a
broad grin
likewise,
firm resolve
the
poem spilled over the page
or
stretch for the imagination
you
could find yourself in treetops
words
long since sunk
will
bob up here
out
of nowhere
mist
come
the
rain when hope
was
all exhausted
an
arrow showing through
some
shining
it
could be a hand
near
the top of the clock
or
yours in mine remembering
the
road to bring home
throw
a line of dots
in
this lost heart
find
love
that flies mighty nice
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