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The kettle’s lid stayed unmoved to
my voice
More silent than an early morning
immortal gods and Chinese hares
fighting under it, drowning in
keylan tea
I have to bury the kettle deep into
the soil
And dream about it only at nights
image: Helen Vacalo
I am fascinated by this poem. I understand much of it, and yet much of it understands me less.
ReplyDeleteSo I read it, and read it!
This is appealing to me!
Thank you Paul! Your words mean a lot to me!
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