Saturday, April 16, 2011

Balsam Root

Sunflowers smiling in the hills,
they could no longer
hold in their yellow grins

All dry and sage in the valley
where the vineyards
haven't run them out

I will go see them when the snakes rest
among the olive leaves,
the wooly arrowheads

One day in the not too distant future
someone sipping a fine merlot
might remember a wilderness

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