Blackberry bindis evoke memories of a leafy orchard
where children climbed like ants over trees,
and minutes hung from slipping shadows, knocking in the breeze.
My mind blooms eggshell blue on drying sheets
and the odd balloon, like a blotch on paper, drips up
as if in rewind.
Like brain surgeons, bugs prod and prune
thought passageways through to an opening of overcast light.
Lizards crawl along slings of branches
skidding, knocking bark into my eyes.
It's here where I am able to steal one last moment of summer,
one more un-planned hour of creativity and wonder
beyond the usual tasks;
here where I feel closest to my memory
which leads me back to where I'm able to make sense.
as if in rewind.
Like brain surgeons, bugs prod and prune
thought passageways through to an opening of overcast light.
Lizards crawl along slings of branches
skidding, knocking bark into my eyes.
It's here where I am able to steal one last moment of summer,
one more un-planned hour of creativity and wonder
beyond the usual tasks;
here where I feel closest to my memory
which leads me back to where I'm able to make sense.
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