1354
16.ix.23
4.260
somewhere in the year
a season
and here we are
outpeering
as if of moment
glimpse of others
clock innocent
somewhere in the year
putting forth of song, leaf, twig
a window open to
all on the way
or it might be a week, a month
twinkle in the daisy light
everything that’s every day
easily goes under
who knows where?
who flew through?
why but sing
new colours
of which all are capable
ache along hearts all
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