by Dan Raphael
I wake to spring leaves and morning light
what year is it
the year of legs; the year of the ants national convention
someone’s in the bath room but no one else is home
the grass cut yesterday’s gray & trying to spell something
the crows see no reason to connect the dots
wishing for pockets, an easy way top crack nuts
or get into cars with groceries inside
when several things beeped and we ran as fast as we could,
so far our lungs couldn’t remember the way back
so many thirsty people what else could the sky do

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