Thursday, March 05, 2020

I can still see our bright streaks
firing over corn rowed earth
and runes upon dark soil
skittering with sparks
no longer in the orbit
rowing a steady grave.

Fogging and wiping squares
in the limitless tug of space
watching ice planets
and forming ooze
cycle still reaching
home and water
the light's entrance
twinkling on a stone morning's
two sets of skate blades
by a river pool

the dawn resurgent with pines
and berry bush framed clearings
a thin track's divine match sticks
chalk lake caught

an outlook fizzling down
vivid enough moss
root fiber
ten tons of mint leaf.

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