Thursday, March 30, 2017

Lusty Calligraphy: a poem


I heard the Spring Peepers whisper and
had to chase
the note,
 draw it in,
feel the very bottom of my lung ache
to hit such on such a love song
without measure or lyric,
trusting only the cold wind
to hang it on a cedar bough
or wrap it around a birch trunk
long enough for
the next breath to ripple it over
some pond surface
with lusty calligraphy.



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