so she says
the wind through the twigs
finds a knot
the wind through the twigs
finds a trunk
tumbles into the ditch
and finds heaving water
stumbles on
she draws a circle in the sand
the meadow in september lushly lingers like a lazy squire
who in the prime of life can afford to cease his labours.
high stakes. old money. a man who even so refuses to make
room, who has come to see working as playing. he picks up
the scythe to bed down the last grass and feed it
how can a final chord find its beginning here
how can for this an instrument from us
that harrassed by dreams which we perceive as crucial allies
flee into a barn at the first drop of rain
so she says
draw a circle on the ground
with two sleeping people inside
provisionally
or to prevent worse
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