I went
to visit my mother this morning
and ask
her if she had any ideas
at
first I couldn’t find her amidst the rows of pheasants calling
the
timber testaments swayed & shivered bare
each quondam
cortex as crisp as the next
so there
I sat awaiting a warmer air
once
found though she had nothing to offer
and I
gave nothing back
save
anger
at the appearance
of a mis-dated plaque
far
better then to merely watch
four
spot shadows along the foundations of the stream
mimic skaters
spinning a springtime dream
and a
passing frog paused with a question in his throat
so I
took out my pen and paper that I might write notes
his words weren’t for me either
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