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Brown Trout



Okay - let’s push.

It’s brittle outside,
it’s a day dry as a carapace
begging to split and fall away.

Follow what rises
out of the claustrophobic
the rot of dark dreams;

what feeds rootlets that push life
into fresh buds that swell with
a sweet tang that makes love to bees.

Okay - blush at the newness, at the innocence
that cleaves to this bawdy verve.

Even when we try, there is no hiding
what breaks open with each bloom -
Each breath is a well spring.

Today - I believe
my shoulders can bear everything that wants a ride.
.
I believe I am the lake
who carries flock after flock of geese,
splashing down, dithering -

to travel on, to stay around.

I believe my spring tonic
is spider bites and brown bats,
blessed with fireflies, already out in March.

Together we admire Mars among the poplars.

I believe I well up
in purple, yellow, green, softest blue -

another chimera circulating with galaxies
around this moon and that sun,
my own big bang – birthing universes.
Tonight we can sleep like brown trout in deep water –
an easy, drifting shadow,
dreaming about everything and nothing.

Then rise radiant in the morning,
solid as wren chatter- golden and present;
so beloved, no trying.

Now
let’s push again.




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