1092
in among the days of it
webbed in the paths of timber
wind fallen
moonless till the morning
wrapped unwrapped returned redeemed
an infinite number of days until
love in our laps and spread
struck with a so sudden star
gift-wise
in all these nothing Sundays, months
still sugar-hit
still soaked
Christmas is always elsewhere minded
dream snow
and pray for a breeze
I hear them
summer – vast acreage of song
let's altogether in our rounds
so many larded deaths to line
as tar of the boiling road expand
we
filled with the spirit
if faithless
still float
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