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Gardening: one version

Pruning cotoneaster from flower beds

in the sun

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I feel sky

shade over and the breeze

reach down

a thirst of moments

later a drop at my temple

another again

pure syllables

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I gather

my tools and move

under the domed

birch where the splat of great drops

resounds and eventually

even here

a trickle

finds its way down

toward creases open

in palms

the nape of the senses

contours

to streambeds

I hadn't thought

to be dry.