How my raw palms twitch  
In sun's last tingle  
No one knows  
I'm here  
Not gulls-a-gossiping  
Not coal cloud clusters or oaken shadows  
The railway and the salt road  
Knew me  
Entombed in lost and found  
Enrobed in memory  
Encased in the mirror  
In the room marked Gents  
Or cut on glass on the bar room floor  
Hare Hare Hare  
Who's gazing at the harvest moon  
Who now runs with the deer  
Who's chomping the still fresh green  
In this summer's last tingle  
A lucky lucky hare  
That's who  
Good Morning sleepyhead  
Who's open palm catches the plum  
Yes - You  
Gratitude is not a gift  
Gratitude is waking
Written by whale
Published | Edited 7th Oct 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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