wearing stripes,
hoping to take on me
their jaunty insouciance
breathing the green,
the rooted calm,
of this sturdy shade tree
purposeful and unsteady,
the tow-headed child
crosses the grass
October chill—
juniper berries
touched with frost
Sunday labyrinth,
cathedral bells measuring off
my meditative steps
new snow
blowing like cloud
up from the piney hills
the withered apples
on the artist’s trees,
above three graves
—Christie
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