(idea) by hodgepodge Wed May 03 2000 at 3:09:17
There is a voice here
the glass clean--
frost, this morning
pure,
cold against the palm
through these holes that I have
left, hills
flushed, faintly
leaves coming
from some warmer country
we have
all the time that is
in the breath collecting
on the floor--
all the words that may be
in the one bird
rising.
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