the timbral flickers
Lara Candland
it is almost morning
the timbral plays cyphers,
squints on freckled orthography
***
autumns fleshly epicures dip,
wash down to sinew
birds have flitted from the brake
rubies, topaz were unrolled then put away
dull darkle gives way to blot
***
drill into their gilded sepulchres
stooped, yet sublimer
than their couriers in hiding
***
cease fretting:
the bird and her clever peruke
have notched the trees beneath your window
the dense pouring of winter drops off Januarys cliff
hindered wintervital star
infant flakes have grown and gone
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