Tuesday, March 22, 2022

memoir

Measuring in moon form,

in dog days and worm turns, 

seed husk and beetle dust,

the drought dry procession of

loam to breath held and

spells spilled, this furtive 

yearn spent soil wastes 

wishing for the renewal of

old glories, that ghost 

gone for whenever there’s 

some small thing missing 

keeping the whole ensemble 

at that moment before 

completion, when it isn’t so much

a hope as a habit, stepping into 

the strike, knowing the distance,

the difference from probable

to likelihood, home 

coming and going, the signal

hinted in each incidence,

weed green and spring blue.

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