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THE WELCOME PATCH

THE WELCOME PATCH

I am drenched

Stunned and spun

Stiff and swaying in air’s open tongue

Face to face and eyes wide

Melting

Dripping into a slow quench.

They all wave

Standing tall

Beckoning

Fingers. Flirting!

Now bending

Secretly calling, “Come!” “Play!”

Dreaming to lay that against my brow

My nose dozing in the thick glistening of all that

My eye spying that earth and stock and high bough

My mouth mining the swelling, seeping sap of all that…

Thirst growing all out of the same stuff

The same tall slender silhouettes that fold over the hem and bluff

Crawling from the loin, out of the deep well

That is hidden beneath

There in the burning brush

That silent haunt from so far away that I dare not say.

But

In the end

Only the mirage of love and lay remains

Like a childhood written in a fairy tale,

The ink?  Each pencil-mark strand of tall grass

Hatched in a patch at the base of some distant evergreen

That makes me want to dig in and sniff the stale morning air

And make it fresh

early to rise poss3

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