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Sprinkles of snow in the spruce woods, night-lights that ripple and whisper
in thickets of larch and pine. In the axils of upper leaves
your white star-like corolla a soothment for wounds.
You are good for clarity of mind – repeating your name at night
in periods of drought renders the spirit receptive.
Somewhere close at hand you are hiding until I find you:
a remedy for solitude a prickle of white in the wood. |
