Wednesday, December 21, 2016

SOLSTICE

On a dark winter's day,
a sudden mysterious
breeze'll go 

wheezing through blue bristles
of spruce branches,
and in a snap

you think how—those trees 
back in Eden 
must have sounded 

exactly like these—explicit,
equally 
misunderstood,

underutilized,
never listened-to,
and so on. 

Only, in Adam 
and Eve's defense, you figure—
they had a good excuse.

Since that mighty 
wind rending those bleak, 
original branches 

likely didn't 
scare out such perfect
English as these do—

probably more like
some of that ugly Church
Latin, or something.

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