At last
We are the bits of all there is
That we retain
The gathered spoonsful of
The universe that make their way
To where and when we are
A drooping frog-green leaf
Of my magnolia tastes the pane
Outside my dining room the
Gentle breeze a gift
And I move on within the
Warm sweet maelstrom
© 2022 Guy Holliday all rights reserved
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