Back to the clean earth,
the sky is a sleepless
blue cradle.
When I was elevenish
I left the window open
and listened to the church bells
chime
in parachutes of song.
Now wind knocks the bluebells
like tiny feet on a tambourine
and I get the same feeling –
That you are here again,
your hot red heart
entwined with mine,
like wire mending a fence.
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