~connexion

 

 

blame a curving sky
or the estuary beneath
leavened paper arches

the way sinflowers carve away
light

and evergreens spill their
rosemary scent
to an ordinarily persuasive pale
afternoon

a mossy monday reclines
tilts against the deadwood
writing the third color of
poetry

memories grow here, on the north-side

like a gospel of old bibles
and thoreau’s musky bones  

 

©  lori hamilton

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