1340
first of spring
a right-you-are
Sunday to start
in a close mist
all blue beyond
mulberry largely leafed now
damp for the novelty
all of it singing
wings noted, gone
here’s lit
in the glisten grass
foliage rise foreshadowed
a certain cloud come for me
neither fire
but so the sun signs
and I take them everywhere
say wallaby thud
wattle sneeze
we’re away
this thing could happen to anyone
lovely stillness spills around
live steaming every roof is
time finds me
just a little glint
I go on
to picture this
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