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May Morning

First chirp in the leaf trees,
May-break at half-moon setting.

Like an odour of drizzle extracted by the skin-nerve,
Threatening of future collapse with each spank of wind,
Exhumed from the new beginning rots.

But there is no down-pour this morning.
Just the fusion-ardour of the direct sun,
Microwaving the colours into movement-sounds.

Then the queen of the night appears,
Wading up the steep hill with ploughed hips,
Glistening in sweat through the rips to the hair drips,
Covered, crawling with strange enzyme.


She is of the earlier, ancient pursuits...


Her moist mechanism brought to ignored recompense,
By the iron church-bell at the hill-top, donging.

But I still watch with longing...

Written by jIMNUT_rOARIN
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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