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                     turning leaves smoulder in the darkness
                     wind makes them raise their eye   following

                     best to let them alone
                     let the night contain them awhile

                     for in the morning
                     they will fine-stain the sky

                     the scent of green they used to be
                     before the sun turns the hills back

                     to purple stone and not until then
                     will they have their glory

                     … sshhh


originally posted on Blue Girl Poems (in the comments) 011112




death wormhole: still waving!
eyes wormhole: … walking down the street
green wormhole: someone called Frank
hills & purple & stone wormhole: tag cloud poem IV – C
leaves & night wormhole: night time
life wormhole: walking / right into the side of the very door left / open for me
morning wormhole: 25% scaffolding & rope
sky wormhole: Hever
sleep wormhole: I glimpse above the rooftops
sun wormhole: sunny day
wind wormhole: rhetorical inevitability inexorable in both immanent dissipation & implicit effulgence