to belong in a dry world
to take days and churn them file and tidy them
bundle them with the tiny succulents on the kitchen sill
the place(a kitchen cannot be a room)is radiant in the afternoon
burningburningburning with the breeze
in the sun my tree hides from shadows
birds chatter in silver-slivered chirps
none matching falling like a trillion stars i cannot see in daylight
i watch them jealously and so i learn to keep my mind aired
a myriad useless but engrossing thoughts that i put
in the blender but they end up no smoother than
yesterday or last year
talk from across the pond is hard to hear though lips move and move
empty vessels and all that
and words can have no use unless they make sense
(or not)
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