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Hollow the hour, if you can. There’s always a little more

light. Like chlorophyll summons sun

through leaves, shade brings green, grants the dirt bright

spots that would sound acoustic if they could.

Here     here     here     here                       here     

here                          here              here

Walking springs the mind a river, 

a swath of breath. Remember that

there is no why, really. Only a pebble

to pick up and hold. Turn it over in your palm.

Make it the warm you are. Take it home

to the hours of late light from a Western

window. Place it in water on a plate

underneath the mint plant that leans

onto the screen, a whisper if it could: “dapple”

Posted 10/12/17
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