One euclid spider
has drawn an ideal
line, sun-whitewashed
between two branches.
One breeze primps the
fanned-out spear tips
of this dried palm,
castanet-rattly, like
feathers from the tail
of one Jurassic bird
showing off rear plumage
scales to its mate.
One morning, unlike
all the other mornings:
sunlit and lonely
as any singularity.
Sunday, 12 August 2012
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