Late August Noon
The door opens onto a wall of insected silence
I do not go out
Beyond the glass, sporadic bird calls chipping
Deep shadow pools on the hot grass
lace-edged, now fluid and then
still again
I come to rest in the unanswerable
The door opens onto a wall of insected silence
I do not go out
Beyond the glass, sporadic bird calls chipping
Deep shadow pools on the hot grass
lace-edged, now fluid and then
still again
I come to rest in the unanswerable
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Lisa B King. All rights reserved.
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