in which green grows

green morning thins to pale

a faint lime streak through

day’s climb

 

by noon I watch light

dissemble so that green

shakes loose of colour’s

bind and falls among

the starkness, emptied

 

before dusk green grows

a greenness of hues

a green canopy of solid

tone so vivid that orange

becomes the brightest

of garden stars

 

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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.

 

 

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Daylight Visits

in hues

glimpsed behind the cypress

azure sky-blue

rich like african skies and water-fresh

salvias engraved in air

and silkness, still

as a light lake of reflection

passively flat, a changeling

in tone from early to now.

windless, calmness clamed

preserved as frieze

I have seen green

turn red in the diminishing

rims, and still the pinkness

of rose insists

like a harbour

of duskness

 

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