nearest the ear
to hear
sonatas play sketches
on piano, leaves and grasses.
How fluid light flutters
across darkness,
and yesterday's
bubbles rise
upon today's bleary eyes.
How cold stuffing stares
smelling pine unawares,
as time studies time
with needles stored
in the muddled attic of the mind.
How bruised and bored
decorations wait
in boxes saved just in case
next year the mystery's made
Christmas clear.
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