Morning air: thick weave
of song – tiny frogs pulse news
of earth’s beginnings
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Morning air: thick weave
of song – tiny frogs pulse news
of earth’s beginnings
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I want to see your heart. I want to peel away your shirt: open the buttons, one by one, lift the fabric from your chest, lay my head on your skin. Listen. Listen, then look deep, deep, into the caves where your secrets lie. I want to make sure, in the caverns where you keep your loved ones, there is a small effigy of me.
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Spring pulls back the rug
points at winter’s housekeeping
and wields a fierce broom.
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In the dark, warm air
stokes its breath,
eyes dawn’s snowflakes.
Winter
starts to die.
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