from this week in September, 1973 (I was 28)
you goddamn right I’ve got questions
I got a hell of a lot of questions
I collected so many
I don’t need answers any more
I just gotta learn to weave baskets
be concerned with dying cane
meshing those fibers into self-container
a gift made to be placed upon a shelf
a quiet duck upon a still pond
If he flashes white under wing
he will rise and be gone
the reeds lean together
the rhythmic quilt of intersecting ripples
reflects the image of a dissolving cloud
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