One dark day the trees
began a trumpet sound.
We sat listening patiently;
the sky was near.
And I felt the trembling motion.
We ran out to see the future
from the ground.
People died - and people
risen - everywhere.
We held hands and
made a circle, quietly,
from the ground. We returned
and set the table by the door.
(Try it to make it for holidays.
Hang onto corduroy jeans
and the late magazines that
sit side by side.
What did it mean?
White yellow curtains
and boxing uncertainty.
If it sounds silly or
markedly simple.
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