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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