65 Readings

Spring evening

Light skates the bay,

takes a cut through woods,

through winds. Air enough

for here, winding my

way through just aside sense.


You may blot out my moon,

smudge the edge with your thumb.


I can pretend not to look,

breeze tumbling through

an aside of where. Where I, 

my self under, swells under spells.


Late bird, late bird, spring up

in song, patter on the fence-top, 

sun giving its best to the undersides

of things at the late hour

you let me go and I follow.


In any world where word follows

from you. Moon rose again.

Holy haze, carry me on.

Posted 04/19/21
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