Canto CCLI

I tell you all about the world beyond
our living room window, under the clouds
that smudge the contours of the red tipped wand

in Crystal Palace that relays the loud
and idiotic flat screen excesses.
I speak of mountains, forests and the pond

beyond the red slate roofs where terrapins
are supine on damp logs, their chins held high
while the heron remains contemplative,

eyeing the ripples for a trace of coy.


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