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Tenacity of Lace

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Musings #75 - Notwithstanding (Plainsongs)



       She speaks of omen, cloying

humidity and a lurid green sky,


on a day years ago when

the funnel rumbled

louder, closer, close.


The din above ground – windows

exploding, trees uprooting,

pick-up trucks flying –


while huddled in the cellar,

her parents exclaimed over the ring 

her beau had given her that day.


       Cranes dance wide-winged,

their warble and bugle deafening.


Then, mated for life, they resume

their northern trek across the sky.


We court with diamonds,

so hard to break.  Bend,

cautions a relentless wind.


       Her husband builds a sturdy house,

but such things don’t matter much


to her anymore. She knows that,

sought or not,

change wreaks havoc –


knocks down all our constructs,

as if made of straw or small

pieces of folded paper.





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