Another Beautiful Sunrise Here In Paradise
(What More Could A Man Ask?)
He brings only the blankest of
pages and his highest spirit flute
to the hill’s crest, fasts from sunrise
until dusk, watches only fire and
fire ants, contemplates a cloud’s
dance with the long grasses, sees
only that he has no visions.
Space will not be ordered,
nor let him catch or even mark
the ridge’s fiercest green:
shadows of clouds on clover.
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