Dear.  Where is north?

North is there.

Pointing left, our river slides north

Clumsily, careesing our dryness

to some attention, pressing brown

ochre earth to growing

nagging, needing soil.

In its stark nakedness,

I’d help it dress for the season.

Fromhard to malleable,

the scorching bears fruit

then sleeps the winter.

Dave Barber

3 Sept 05

Painting with Fingers

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