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Wednesday, March 16, 2016

Hopping like a wren



The smell of daffodils
a mile away
makes me drunk.

The crunch of gravel
to the faraway temple
comforts me.

The sight of a crane
on a stick-like leg
stops time for me.

The tail twist of a trout
trapped in a frozen stream
maddens me.

Hopping like a wren
in the eaves of verse
gives me wings.


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