Wednesday, June 18

Cha Cha

the wall that blah’d in winter is grown out into
its yearly youth of pink flowers, tremulously pecked
against the white wall if fashioned into a tourist
destination – I duck below its overhang intruder,
turned its hand a motherly finger run my through
hair; & peaceful cha cha sway down to the pavement
made me believe if for once in pickled love that
on branches grows, resuscitated year year after
to check upon thisswirling earth that dances over
& over for the pink flowers pecked against white wall.

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