We piece ourselves together,
Light and dust,
Parable and shrug..
When the birth of day
delivers orange
into the arms of a waiting
fir,
I admit my breath catches
and wonder nips my heels.
At least I see it,
Can feel and
Taste it,
but these recent moments carry
concern
for meaning.
The twists come, the slopes lift,
I’ve got the heart for it,
but the momentum dropped
off
somewhere
and I’m skipping, strangely,
along the surface of an exquisite outer
while
the inner chews in mid air,,
What am I doing?
Then, I must rise, and
gather the orange by the lake
exactly as the fir,
sitting silently in wait-

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