falling behind, the sound's shadow
cast like a thought
after words express
a wish or need for simple things.
I hear you unlatch the door
and call down Please buy some almonds.
You Probably nod
and say yeah; but I 'm tangled in the branches
of van Gogh’s blossoming tree. Not just the painting
on our wall but the willfulness
in madness -- not mellow grace
after lying under tomes of snow.
Sheets bookscrapped with leaves
twigs and deer tracks that shiftto boot heels marking their way
toward this house, this room, this woman
who listens to time -- steeped
in the wild scent of her imagination.
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