1155
1.iii.23
4.60
for
Chopin’s birthday
a pinch and a punch
beginning your Spring
so bright misted March is
the words lie flat to find
run a certain sleep to this
less day now
must make the most
so upstruck green and whirr
come insects
as gentle rain if we’re the place below
on such a day the kettle calls
this whole valley sings high low
winter still far
all petalfall leafly
not long till the day of the extra hour
it’s just here cows hop for the harp
a dream beyond all clocks
take it on your toes
how every place is blessed to be
and we along
wallaby waltzes
each mark to be arbitrary
the grass is almost legal
some creatures dark it in a hole
and take their night with them
it’s elsewhere and ever the curses rain
I hear them in the thinnest air
I keep them in a box of light
I carry everywhere
so over and over we go
much mellow
no finding where anything starts
just these instances of mine