Clouds cling to the cave’s mouth
disguising the demons who dwelt
there. Our words worked on us
like wine and laughter, while love’s
simplicity quickly complicated
all which was said. Thus the poem’s
parameters become the poem,
and our forms fall into function,
as peach blossoms frost
the temple walkways in spring
with a light pink brocade.
(April 26, 2022)
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