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The Façade of Orchard Willows

There are days

summer and winter

seem to
reverse –

unwind the flowers.

You close the door.

Knock as though

dead limbs and
leftover pollen

will answer.

You wind your way

the orchard
as if

you were a ghost.

Haunt the underside
of trees, unwind

their roots.

You become a memory
of God’s silence.

Leftover bees

your skin.

Published inBlogging & PoemsMy Poems

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