NEWSFLASH:
The trees are talking about us.
The earth knows exactly,
and the angels are conspiring.
Listen:
Rolling waters of the lake through
naked branches, weave a blanket for
the diseased, the spry, the messengers, and the
hard of hearing.
Yesterday’s leaves shuffle
underfoot, married to the
soil. And this bold song is cutting the air
like the call of April’s cardinal, arrhythmic,
and frantic
with life.
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