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Listening, on the riverbank.. (open form verse, quantitative meter: 9 – 9 – 5 / 11 / 1 – 5 – 2 )


 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes Coltrane,  sometimes Bach, sometimes
whence flow  profound seas of Tchaikovsky

– cometh melted snows.

 

 

You feel the river bed move,
and there you sit,

warmed,

past Time and Season,

trickling.

 

 

 

 

(open form verse, quantitative meter)

 

 

 

 

 

 

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