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CUPFUL
~
by
Leonora Record
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Oddly,
the coffee tastes different this morning.
There’s a peculiar bright music in its usually more sultry flavour.
As you open your mouth around each word tastes differently,
So you repeat them, over and over,
Like an incantation dancing strangely on your tongue.
Skin isn’t skin, man isn’t man, sky isn’t sky anymore.
Risking everything, you shout like a fool,
Loudly, and it frees you.
There is a fever in your heels
And you know it’s not just the coffee.
You dance.
There is no one home so you circle to the music like a child.
Oh hell, you open the door and
Let the music spin you round the yard,
And the notes reach out to the sky,
The sky that’s not “sky”,
The wide nameless newness,
The unusual blue grinning gladly ear to ear above you.
You gulp it in.
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At
the Cabin, end of Winter ~ by Christina Myers
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Cold day in March,
but the smell of earth is there;
renewal revolts
against the aging winter,
its rebel cry
is heard in the sun warmed wind.
A distant vision of grey green hills
beyond an expanse of dangerously alluring water.
A speckled pebble, smooth
in my hand: suspended in the air
for a long second, then
dancing, dancing
disappears in the black
beneath the waves.
Cross-legged on a dock
clouds of misty smoke
around my head, and
alone with the cry
of a loon,
I smile.
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