stilled leaves weave bide for breath to move
through that second fresh feel of the hairs on
my arms reminds of ants moved moth body
that leaves miniature turns immobile
soundless
serene as leaves that wait invisible seed inhales
cold gold spores and shows the miracle up close
seasofme110416parallaxis
YOU ARE READING
body
Poetrymy personal favourites in one book. these all come from older collections. hardly any of the media belong to me
