Saturday, April 21, 2007

poems in a folkrhyme manner

    Many waters -
        which of them here?
    Many birds -
        which flock here?
    Which come to rest,
        on which waters?
    Who stays to
        see them, where?


*


    The pigeon sat under
        the hawthorn leaves
    While the rain pattered
        he snapped the old twigs


*


        Edie sitting
    on a kerb
        plays
    absorbed -
  plays in her
    head-
        down
    space, with her
        pink-framed mirror


*


    catch speckle

    a pair of
    looping
            gyrations

    sometimes lawn
            eyebrow
    parting

    chased mirror-scent

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