Sospira
Slow, slow, as a slack string
tightens, she lifts limp arms, tautens
as a tent pole plants
flapped sheets, from the spine straight
to the slight skew and splay
of the root feet. As the bark stiffens,
smothers, thickens, there is a faint
leather crackle and a soft whistling
fluffed sigh as the wind
ruffles leaved tousle.
David Bircumshaw
Spectare's Web, A Chide's Alphabet
& Painting Without Numbers
http://www.chidesalphabet.org.uk
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