
Somehow had never visited the Green Mountain State, but spent the past week there giving lectures and touring around. Oh my how beautiful! Re this poem that emerged from a sojourn alongside Morey Lake.
Low hills mirrored
in water like glass.
A cloud sliver paces
its twin.
Swallows swerve for bugs,
their paired reflections swimming,
brush strokes that underscore
the otherwise limpid calm.
Loon song evinces
a quaver in the curtain
chorus of those I mourn.
A yodeled incantation:
It is this way today
while you are here
and will be when like us
you are gone.
nice to hear your voice again today.
i’ve not yet been to vermont, but there’s always tomorrow.
blessings, a
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