bosky banks
new anglers whistle
away the fish
the point is lost
but we know it's there . . .
garden obelisk
stained oilskins
an iceberg's blue
somersault
lesser celandines
aglow in my garden
their name
belying the beauty
of these earthly stars
father lights
the kerosene lantern . . .
we recite poems
until they are rooted
in blood and bone
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