Forth
I saw the sun beginning
Through the diminishing
Glass while the water washed
Over and made me new
The ache left me or rather
Moved from below and
Started up as if for
Cough or laugh or unholy
Mutterings in languages
Unknown to all and most of
All me but forth nothing came
But a quiet moan of the day before
Me and I saw in it the things
That I am not the things
Which define the paper
But not the grain by which
I live and love and for which
I eat not for survival or the want
To continue the gestures
The practiced motions
But for the bit of light that
Glints from the droplet
The cool aromatic breeze of
Spring’s orgasmic coming
The poking eye of pink or gold
Or crimson from bud to crocus
That awakens in me the vigor
Of life
by Sean Flannigan
Nice!
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