A Final Note

Harboring a twitch

And the jangle of a charm

The wind chimed in

With a long, hearty sigh

A sigh that swept over the river bank

Where I hid something for you

The spire of a pink jute

Its pretty aperture

Of creekbed purple

And the gay flap of petrified mycelia

The shake, rattle, and roll

Of some crooked sycamore

Hanging over the water

And the haw-haws 

Of three wise crows

Wings black as umbra

Their flights, graceful and delicate

A rising and a falling.

I sat down there

On the deck

Just waiting

I could have sworn I heard you

Whisper my name

Behind some thin rusted veil

Like mice in the wall

A murmur

A squeak

A chasm between us.

A restless clamoring

Of heart beat,

And the trembling steam of peppermint tea,

I spent my day like this

Down at the farm

Where I hid something for you

A note

Somewhere between the rocks and the reeds

But to be honest with you

The river may have swallowed it whole.



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