By Richard Nowogrodzki
Ah, I think I see a few of the tricks now.
It’s easy not to cling to the last snow of the season,
coming as it does at the end of so long a winter.
And the last daffodil, the last swallowtail butterfly, the last ripe pear –
they’re noted only in retrospect, so it’s not very difficult to let them go.
In the fall, the maple leaf devotes itself so completely to its changes that,
blazing into a timeless moment,
it simply releases from its branch
and softly descends
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Posted by kind permission of Richard Nowogrodzki.
I try to look at the big picture. The sun, ardent tongue licking us like…
More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s…
Beloved, you know who I’m calling to, though I mistake you for the bird’s song,…
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