Perfectly carved

Like a sculpture old

She stands on the stage

Wearing only a sash

Please do not look

She has only tonight

Before it all fades

The twisting lights

Blue and green and

Red and yellow and-

There she is.

If you look

You may never see



February The First

February came
With all the excitement of a wet leaf
Soggy, damp, and dew-dropped.

The leaf holds no promise for me;
Prim-rose and parquets line
The cusp of my garden.

But to the vole; squeaky, sullen
Silent among the reeds and thistles
The wet leaf means renewal.

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