[You were in sunlight being prepared]


             Sat low our lord
             of literature
             for he was very tired;
             he’d had a fool’s time of it—


Rattle-prr, the cricket crrrr,
             click-crick, under the deodar,
bad breeze fights frets, repeats
       itself like Theodor,—well,
guess what.  There is a season
that does not go
with the wind,
      fights frets & fidgets far—;
you were in sunlight being prepared,
beyond the bridge, the otter pups
       swam blind, at once—we’re tired
of the human world.  There is
a music that does not go with the fire.
Low grade depression…
             In the hills, dark gneiss
in granite, old fire undressed. String
out, fire spirits, underground…
 
Owl swoops down across an oak
still day, ramalina menziesii, lichen
      hangs down.  Can’t tell which
to prefer: owl or mouse. Sat
low, sat low twice—; there is
     a nature that does not
go with the mind—
 
                                                  after TM
 

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