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Dedication

Insects replace the snow
of late December
and I give myself
to no cause but living.

The blossoms are all wrong.
Broken phenology
set them bursting in winter
and I can only say it reminds me
of another story
where the heroine takes shelter
in a machine that drops birds from the sky -

but what does that tell you?
My best instincts
could send us migrating
to a dead sea.

I can only give myself
completely
to whatever actions
relieve the tightness in my chest.

◄ Vineyards

Winter Growing ►

Comments

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Laura Taylor

Wed 27th Jan 2016 12:32

Wow. This has so many layers of meaning, truly poetic. The blossoms are all wrong - yes, yes they are. This folds love and nature and what affects us all into the one poetic mix. Well worth re-reading to pick up on the nuances.

Another great poem.

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