A N OT H E R SP R ING Michael S. Walker Laundry on a line The feel of wooden clothes pins I put down Texting on my phone Go outside To bring that in Meditate over it Like some Zen Koan. It is a time of sickness Of darkness But still Robins forage in the bare yard And the bridal wreath Beyond the fence Telegraphs An immaculate Almost crass Denial‌
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