CALMING, MOVING
The waters are running on, the thin light of
the morning traces trees. Everything that
isn't now wants to be new. This is Springtime
over and again. An ancient tribal memory, an
old-line human feel, brings it all back again.
How many times this turnaround, how many
times this resurgence? It is said we live but
once, and then OK with that - but tell that
to the seed, the frond, the bud, the blossom.
I am a maniac for the living, a speaker
for the dead.
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