the future is bold, but the present is bleak
a hum of twilight circling the tent
generally, often, a warmer feeling
sends me aloft, and there I’m found swinging in trees
unusually quiet for midwinter’s day
a wind has picked up and carried along
a parcel of fire, with jacket of teeth
spearing, soaring, destroying all things
a sound indicates the pass of the hour
ticking and eating and filing away
the grass sings again and then it crescendos
all the way up to the branches and me
Copyright L.M. 2005.
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