Sung

into the fields

of Provence,
in a clatter

of noisy scents,
a rough-hewn

tree still shines
dancing murmurs

leftover on its bark

from past summers,
& its branches,

stilled flames
planted firmly

in the winter gray,
hold the land

to the moon
in a noisy clatter

of scents.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Photo: Doreen Dee