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Friday, November 22, 2013

No Motion--No Sound



Brief spurt of sunshine
After the passing rain storm;
Sky is gray again.


 

 My old snow shovel
Leans against the front window,
Next to the Buddha.

 

The carved wooden owl
Is melting into the tree;
(It can't fly away).





The old rusted bell
Hangs still on the wooden fence--
No motion--no sound.




On the rotting trunk
New shelf fungi have sprung out--
Beige vitality.




The old wooden fence
Lies ready for the winter--
This time as kindling.



Even a small child
Could not sit on this low bench.
What's the use of it?




Rumbling up ahead--
Blurred tones, indistinct rhythms:
Van blasts radio.



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