THOLOS OF ATHENA

Sunday, May 22, 2005

copeland morris ABOUT WISTERIA

The loss comes twice.
I close off the room and lock it.
Winter is hanging on till April, the invisible
Reinventing time, approaching the blossoms
Of wisteria blown down, touching the hourglass.
Darkness subsides. Surrounded by play, children
Notice this peace, lingering upon the branch.
They bid me look before I turn my head.

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