Morning
is a kaleidoscope calling out
--although it is hard to hear
I answer: Yes? Hello?
as though speaking into
an old-fashioned telephone
Night
mimics birds bedding,
my arms punctured now
by pain, pine-tree needles.
In the end, the day leaves
unnoticed and uncomposed
_
is a kaleidoscope calling out
--although it is hard to hear
I answer: Yes? Hello?
as though speaking into
an old-fashioned telephone
Night
mimics birds bedding,
my arms punctured now
by pain, pine-tree needles.
In the end, the day leaves
unnoticed and uncomposed
_
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