9.3.10
Signs Of Spring
Little moth, faint chartreuse
Beat the red-breast to herald change.
The word "visit" was invented for them.
It clung to my night's window.
Made itself seen.
I killed the outer lights
And burning bulb above the stove,
All the false beacons, to juice the moon.
Like a ginko leaf its shape remained
Hardly visible in my dark reflection.
At some point all that I wish for
Becomes my imagination.
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1 comment:
Hey hi,, I like all ur posts n ur thinking.. i dnt knw if it is right place to tell u dis.. actually m new on blogging.. n i found ur post n specially the name " A panther in the snow" very different, attractive rather remarkable.. i liked it :)
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