Even Spring Has the Night
Skin like the Thames, the Shard’s beacon yoked to
the Surrealist show at the Tate Modern.
White nights on Jomfruland, goose whistled past
dawn, Venus frosty above Christiania,
My hare legs in slippers, Carnatic as a stave kirk,
toward Herre, Norway to yearn,
Are the kids bothering you, the canal banked no
horses, “time is everything.”
Time veined the truth, out to the churchyard I waded, toward lichen we turned.
JF 2 May, 2015
Photo: Herre, Norway, 13 April, 2015.
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