Willows bend & swipe

like horse’s tails

 

sky bellows thunder:

 

turning of the year

summer swelter morphs

 

into cool morning.

 

Each night

the planets burn,

 

dead worlds that shine

so bright from distant past

 

as if

 

cradled in suspension.

 

You ask for words,

I have none:

 

just a bursting

of my heart

 

as corn winds high

fruit ripens on the limb

 

a whinny at the gate,

life unfurls each dawn

 

febrile in its mystery.

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