Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Are Turtles The Last Word

A fist is not lavender though diamonds do spring up in tight places. Sweat streamed down, prayers were uttered. The ferns cowered, the chickadees stopping singing. Echoes abide where green rules. It was the forest, it was full of us. At last, relief.

Of lurking. As if walking over the crown of a mushroom. Yet observe how silver the light is like recycling. Can one float or are turtles the last word. Couplets unamended.

There was a trail that nobody noticed except the dogs. There was a tangle of roots that resembled a map. The chipmunk's whole body trembled while it sang. Amongst the deadfall, fresh sheds. The pale wild morning glory escaped a certain blade.

A flutter, a cascade, imminent rainbows. Getting around to where on can use the word "angel." Why the red stem, why the memory of logs. Why now of all places this sentence.

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