HEIDI, PRACTICING ACROSS THE STREET
Spring plays slow scales, waltzes toward July.
The leaves obscure the branches, and the shade
obscures the leaves. Time’s intricate façade
a busy undergrowth that blurs the eye.
Footnotes and erasures cannot clear away
her dense disguise, your camouflage.
Only a few piano chords, a forlorn page...
we’re magnifying figures in some Book of J.
5.12.2004
writing a lot today.
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Dove Street
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