Past Inclemency & Present Warmth
by Eryn Green
It was
time that was
the tenderness--eden, as it is
in need of
and tolerating no history--thus no tracks
of conventionalism in our shared patched boot
and oversoul pasts--just new snow, crossed through
like uncommon winter birds do--making paths invisible
but to few
--
But too few
continue--I've started to
think differently of nests
needs and webs. It's inevitable
I guess--& yet resplendent
isn't it? Always
a shocking testament
to what? Home? I don't know
how paradise found its parade
but I love it--patterns in steam
spinning off the Tivoli
brewing tower yesterday--eye beams
into steel
greylit grey
glisten glistening
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