Alison Woolpert
New Year’s Day
ahead of where the wave breaks
the flight of one tern
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spring melt
the tight-lipped family secret
everyone knows
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by-the-wind sailor
no one at his funeral
sure of what to say
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a hole in the rock
letting the world slip through
—late July light
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summer moon
our paddles dip and tuck
the coolness back
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on the porch …
the sound of this peach
is conversation
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the coyote bush
bursts open on this side first
—why not?
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you swear
you can hear the stars
—muteness of the moon
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drying persimmons
this deepening of color
so deliberate
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wide winter sky
the released doves circle once
and are gone
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All poems copyright by Alison Woolpert. They may not be used for any purpose without explicit permission.