black plums sweep
blue plume wind of

thick-boned season

full as the waters

tree-spirits breathe
their yellow bellow of
hum-bells and
leisure

and the
sun splinters its
first grim swellings
of spring

(our)
woodland, overhead
in eaves
of bloom & dark duff

sweeten the green
of evening

so
what is forgotten?

minnows mix & unstitch
the river’s cambrian gray

& the hoar-frost fringes
of heresy and betrayal

leak the last
stains of fall

sylph, I am your bundle,
buried in the corruption
of autumn

the lamps are lit underground ,
it is hard to be taken -smakka bagms 

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