2336
7.143
24.v.26
on a biscuit
day in May
out collecting
the last of the light
bells above
a singing creek
road run off
the rounding of
a sky
things connect
and but there’s
space
listen for a
wingswoop
feel the very
bones inside
it’s my
playscape
with the trees
to speak
look up to them
look out!
who’s here to
climb?
line of the
slipping sun
shadow’s last
cast
over the range
before us
a next then
you’ll have to
imagine sea
where a sun
lives
forget the
birthday of the car
it hollows the
head to believe
gather up dry
kindle sticks
we will say
winter soon
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