listening to the song
stepping the crescendos
with the professionalism of hundreds
to recognition
O save me
from the top one hundreds
not even the pigeon
nor the wind chimes
nor even the waving tops of trees
can assuage this acrid spore on the breeze
but no
there
the ivy
has climbed up one fence post
and shaped itself
square and fast
that I can see
the pigeon dive and pull up adjust tail feathers
turn to land
on a branch
within the
tree precisely
————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
garden wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow
listening & trees wormhole: the bench
music wormhole: No
radio wormhole: magnetic field
trees wormhole: what wounds have you got?
Nicely observed (& don’t we all get to hate the “%s” in the end?).
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hate … and addicted
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This is beautiful. Thank you. I really enjoy your poetry. I like the emphasis on “within” at the end of the poem, and I really like your use of “precisely” with the tree image.
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Ah, Shelly, the gift of being so closely read; thank you
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