My kind of poem King Arthur with the particular interspersed with the cosmic.
Mazel tov. Love your final stanza.
kol tuv, Ryfkah
In a message dated 7/25/02 9:42:32 AM, [log in to unmask] writes:
<< Blue Room 7-30am
Books are illuminated
by slants of early sunlight
where dust motes spin
like stars in the vast beam of chaos.
Only sort papers on the polished table
and constellations collide.
A blackbird on the lawn
listens to the earth turning,
beak seeks, strikes, spears and wrestles
a tussle of worm free.
The perfume of hyacinths pervade.
Adjusting my glasses to read
the morning’s words
my eyes flicker back and forth,
fingers dart and stab at keys.
I sigh distance and decades away
and galaxies gyre.
A paper, an unfinished ordering of words,
sense channering away inside,
is tossed upon the pile
and universes upheave. >>
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