*
A whisper of future leaves
above the tired wave of cloud.
Here's a nostalgic desire for trinkets:
seedpods, damp hand prints.
Teal stockings beneath a white dress,
that's the dream that fills the afternoon
the glow of wandering about it,
the look of a bird's sharp beak.
Already we feel the necessity to strip off,
fold the blanket of winter carefully,
mind the gaps in our world.
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