December 27

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poetry

a short sunbreak
barely an hour

otherwise it is still
save for water

falling from branch
to boulder

say an echo
of the prior rain

the stone worn smooth
from years of the same

year’s end
time is somehow

more perceptible
say the way a sunbeam

is caught in low-lying mist
the way memories

return to fill empty space
the garlic has sent up

new green shoots
like swords, or say tongues–

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