“Youth”

The weaver flits into my mind

for the first time

gathering fronds to bind

Words into images, into rhyme.

In sentences I feel as vast as the sea

Raveraging rampaging

Perhaps why waves attract me

Curlcrashing collating

The brightyellow bird builds

His nest above a flood of phrases.

She tears it down; he rebuilds

With youthful energy, yet singing praises.

I grab that beautiful vision and run

Into the wild and the crackedyolk sun.

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