Monday, March 17, 2014

ASPECTS

Faintly—but 
for real 

this time—like echoes

of some funny
old words—that only 
afterwards

in retrospect
came 
dancing their way

length-
wise 
across the plain 

edges of 
your dim young face—

now
the rows

and rows
of snowy
continental fields all seem 

this morning
to really feel 

the gentle golden
kiss of sun
and finally 

blush with a more 
legitimate 
ardor—in my own dry 

and cracked 
and broke 
and coping

brutal winter face's
toiling 
hard to laugh—direction.

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