Pastels
       

I don't know this morning, with its glissandos
at rest in sheet music of small children,
still-unfamiliar chateaux tucked in the blind spots
of its fat hillsides. Spring seems
predictable as an anthem. Trees, flowers, bees,
timed fireworks; dawn's parade float
of quilted clouds. One barely has to look at it.
Why can I barely look at it.

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Copyright © 2018 Sarah Green All rights reserved
from Earth Science
421 Atlanta
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission