reflected in the copper pot
  Nan Williamson

days go by when I lose
hold of wonder
when last night’s quarrel
or fresh reported slaughters
shove and push for my attention
crowd out the lions and holy fools

but they come back
               and I’m ambushed

bluesy words
jazz-dancing down the syncopated page

fragile stars
frozen lace on winter windowpanes

a revel of nasturtiums
oranges   scarlets   yellows
reflected in a shining copper pot

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