Shimmer of poplar leaves against a slap of sunlight
all flicker and history — poet’s tale of what is to be
and what is not. The time between winter and summer,
of reckoning and memory, counting and forgiving.
The grate of clouds line the ceiling as we pursue last fruit,
last seeds, last herbs, last ships set sail toward fading light.
We wait for birds to leave, days of lead, and docks to freeze.
This monody gives flight to wind that shakes leaves from trees
turns them golden in a memnoment of the sound of swimming
wind that pubbles clouds and makes rivers of storm and frost
to come. One song worth singing, it harps about you, Aeolian
moment, free, you can sing along if you remember the melody.

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