All the berries ripe on the bush
and you can’t help but eat them
as you pluck the ripe vibrant bounty
You drop so many and they get squished
between your toes 
Your sadness breaks into laughter
So tasty, the grove yearns life
the pillow of summer lights dearly
a pursuit, and shine in the hickory
twinkle of your eyes
The berries are all picked, except
the ones not yet ripe
They’ll wait for you another day
Your bucket is full and the sound
of the fruit rolling around in a drum fret of thunder
The starlings follow your leave to scrounge the plunder
A delight to have been able to sample the world
Covered in the breathing sun and the dreams
of wind and sage and the smell that comes from the cool mountains
Our passage is eclipsed by the medium and oscillation in time
Words are fumed transient
Like tongues in weeping quiver
Bodies in the stone barter
Cashmere houses and skies meander
Loathing the hot milk screams of the polished candles
The death resounds up through the hollow curb
We are poor blankets towering the monkeys grunge 
She is Black and a kind woman
The doors of perception ache humble catastrophe
Let mock the learning they forced us to think from
All the greens and blues and the heavens and the hells
Systematically fragmented soul subscriptions revoked
In weasel scrubs longing for the frostbite blue heron
Frozen in hair and her sounds are the mimic in an eagle
My power escapes me now

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