19.xii.21
717
2.353
the randomness is all
ekphrastic
for Donna Nelson’s ‘March Hare’
grid over stain
roots tangle
the depths
to travel cloud fallen
arcs of flow and creek trill
seeping green creeps
tile town
up from the earth as well
shine through
patching of a sun down
sea in a rise of streets
kind of girder swing
of risen leaf to bark strewn
patched with bright
the word ‘sky’ never appears
we look for the rabbit ears everywhere
but they’re a long way down
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