By heart

Perched on tiptoes, filled to the brim,
Then, just in time, the drawing in

Of milky heat and daylight din,

The birches, like old urns, displayed

The awful truth, cracked and crazed,

Of beauty to poem to memory made.

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Mending something

Opinions bring tears to some eyes
Fuming, their worldview dissipates
They ask that you keep them away.
My pinecones won’t eat your apples,
Said Frost, or something to that effect.
Why not see if we can make a spell
See if we can balance our stones,
Build something great instead of hiding
Behind walls of barbed wire and hate.