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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