Peripheral Visions


1.


Flakes of melting ice

swirl my tea of garden herbs—

winter ending twice.


2.


Out of parched corn-rows

fly fat, black ears—the wind reaps

a harvest of crows.


3.


My fire’s last ember

smolders in rain—the quarrel

I still remember.


4.


A giddy hummer

sips—or kisses?—fragrant flasks

of red-lipped summer.


5.


Fish and butterfly

at the pond’s brim, eye to eye,

share infinity.



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