speak easy with lightning
and fantasies fly
from the olive grove

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dragonflies fretted
and blue-red birds flashed grey squirrels
like go go dancers

it was all too much
with chirping morning rhythms
and the dappling sun

languid blinks catching
steam off a morning bird’s wing
awake in August

a triad

it was as quiet
a place where she gave her heart
as when leaves rested

alone but for sighs
of wind caressing water
and a soft birdsong

taken by a surge
deeply divined below earth
she poured herself free