SO NOW ENCASED
IN BLUE MUD
IN BLUE MUD
The shadings of the riverway show
varied colors : old trees deaden the
pain. A gloss, a sheen, and a broken
bench. I notice some bi-lingual birds.
Maybe just a happenstance of noise,
yet I know their language and what
they say. 'There shall never be another
time like this. Here we are now, being.'
-
It surely makes for nervous energy, all
this darting; first in line along the wire.
Broken limbs, and fallen embers. A
slow-time river seems to run in place,
sorrow across the plains of mud.
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