Richard Chandler Tavenner
After a brief rain,
The dimpled dust of the path-
taking the first steps.
What is this wreath of words
hung round my head that should
so completely keep me listening
for the first words heard
Never I know if it’s a noose
for my body, or a halo for my soul,
This writing with these words
what may have been written before.
During the first rain,
After many months of none,
The stones by the path
Where we walk each day, my love,
Undress in all their colors.
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Work of a Poet
Richard Tavenner