I bathe in the river in its grove,
Where the trees are new.
Kudos for a prodigy unremarked,
Nature's prodigy authentic made new.
Bringing from the spring, the grail,
A luxurient, clarion sheen, and a
Soft, intermittant spitting, Dripping
clods of mud, avid for absorbtion.
Where the beribboned road switches,
It touches the celestial blue, the virtue
Heaven immediatly conveys. Heaven
recovers your gift. Thirst is enough
to bring healing. The leaves have
stopped falling, qailing where
the trees have ceased rtheir rocking,
the veneer, drapery pleated to dry.
When the sun is at its zeneth.Alone,
hidden, doves break silence by cooing,
Why has life's voice not been banished,
The doves peirce silence with song.
The song is subler, I rinse the dried clay.
The clay is the color of springtime,
Impregnated by the warmth of spring,
I imbibe the mineral fecundity of
Mud compounded with herbs,
There is no pena in beauty, These
comely trees, so calm....In time,
one with the river, dissolving
into a second rinse of tears.
N- do you know how the use of .... started.
I'm curious. I thought it was Rosa, but then you do it too.
She had friends in Spain in the revolution and had
mentored poets who wrote there.
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