WHAT DID THE WIND. . .

If you aren’t connected,
come to my kitchen.
It is blue,
full of big people.

This world is alive,
as good as rain, so
talk like a motionless eagle
eyeing the valley.

Build a chapel
in your mind in your hour
of inactivation. Fetch me
black pepper and
spheres full of god.

Sometimes it’s as if I am
a large part of your hands,
your primate finger,
your clapping palm.

I shall never end
in irrepressible springtime.
Give thanks.
We are already tired, yes,
my birding friends.

You can defend
painting the summer,
managing some sort of time.

 

I have no idea what the inspiration for this was. It has a Translation Party ring to it.

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