From the East, golden light pours out over the
sleepy soppy treetops.
The raw fence slats all smoke in the sultry sun
after a rough night of being naked and exposed,
unstained as of Yet.
Loitering lumberly after the storm,
the weathering of wrinkled wood
lining up swollen.
like this warm milk from my fingertip.
He has been hurt again,
he is healing in the soft morning sun,
and smiles like Buddha or Krishna,
with milk on his chin.
and polished, it holds no dark veins today.
Offering up another chance
to dry out and soak it all in a day.
Porous (Poor us), all stormy moods have been washed
away, now suede-ing softly
in the strong dawn honeyed sun.
Image By Photos Public Domain [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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