The days are fatter, rounder
ripening lush-lipped plums.
The trees are loaded brushes
poised under cerulean skies.
Stand on the stone embankment
a rising river in your eyes.
Birds are feathering downwards
stealing Hansel & Gretl crumbs.
Daylight stretched elastic
weak tea dawn to brass brazen noon;
We'll question the sun's uprising
but in secret, suspect the moon.
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