Counting

I am counting to a simple beat

of  infinite plainsong

that stopped my chorister

in the middle of something

that could wait, for the low

strong chant grabbed our

hollows and turned them,

took sinews and neurons

somewhere else. In such

voice, green settles again

as a pillow of verdancy

on which to rest.

 

 

Copyrighted by the author

 

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