pottering under a daytime moon: cypresses X

there’s something solid about the passage

we take en route to somewhere else

my cypresses in particular resist pressure

to depart, they’re still here. i linger in the day

using their bulk as a shield, a comfort

really of similitude, the pandorea fluttering

high up like a triumphant flag of victory

over loggers. a potter is just that, casting

an eye on season’s hiatus as it turns to tease

new growth from slumber loping towards

spring. I hear a rustle of shapes expanding

with inner warmth. and there she appears

a comma of a daytime moon with her

lopsided smile just like mine. as the afternoon

lengthens, she holds gravitas in her gaze

giving thought a chance to rest among

the trees.

 

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