With much
toughness in body and sense
Never strident
ever the mensch
she watches her
progress accounts and laments
as bright light
streams out of Spring to quench
the thirst for
ardor in mysterious indifference.
she ardently
scratches at that palimpsest
while nature,
the gods, or the city insist
that we watch
and wait on this rope of suspense
confidently
strung over that rickety old fence
with a monk's
repose and the mystic’s prescience.
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