In the cold
new dawn
wind raises
golden grass
waving forward
lapping
on some
distant
meadow shore,
before,
rain sleet
sharp and bold
drives them down—-
flat.
Later,
sunlight
drying,
warming,
raises the dead—
tall, beautiful husks.
Below,
in dark,
rich,
fertile
earth,
roots, seeds and spoors
know
that
there,
is beginning and end.
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