through the absent day...
and over the banks of the small ponds
attempting to catch its reflections,
the curved earth knows no limitations
knows no resistance from the
flocks of trees along its banks...
rocks hold the old ones while
tentative roots dig into the clay
from which the pots that hold the liquid
were made from decades ago,
when these seedlings had just
dropped from above,
flung to the side by the wind
that knew no other course,
the small fish became large and
were easily caught by the lads who
imagined great things from a full moon.
March 28, 2025
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