Poetry From The California Notebooks

Standard

*

everything speaks
to me
of mending lately

I hear that word
inside
a practice very few

are aware of and
even
less know how to

I see ants mending
sewing
dirt to the ground

endlessly humming
birds
working the low air

other birds unknown
to me
reach out to clouds to

attach them to the sky
for me
it’s all there to see

as I lay beside men who
only
know how to punch holes

.

.

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.

.

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