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Temple Cone-III

Gab and Briar  





Shagbark copses go winter to humid

in a heartbeat.  What great heart, I wonder,

lies so mighty still?  After each spring flood,

a contusion of buzzards bruits the air.


Between getting and begetting is lore

or love.  When she did surrender her body,

a map whereon the compass rose did flower,

I told the auctioneer I’d be bidding early.


See yon haze over hills, blue as a dish?

Hear that goldfinch in the thistle?  I swear

this noon sun’s heavy as an angel’s touch.


O, it took time to get peaceable here,

for like with Cain, the Lord didn’t proffer much

but dust and honeysuckle, gab and briar.