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Charles F. Thielman – Ⅰ

Spine Waiting for Sunrise 





The children of four days of rain,

having left the arms of spruce

pool above roots and listen

as the black-haired goats

of evening slip inside loam.



River crests splice her city,

work-day ramps flared

with truck thunder


as she arranges

fragments of self,

mirror shards glued with java.



Red frisbee launched,

chased by her black lab.

Hot java mug on porch rail,


birdsongs cross dawn canvas,

the sky before work above

her dream-seeded veins.