How far from here

— Robin Walter

I killed the jasmine again. At first,
it seemed not to mind so much
Wyoming & the always wind shuffling
through pines. But its want for warmth

betrayed it. Oh little jasmine,
we can pretend against it—
but the body wants what it wants.

The birds in the nest are quiet now—
I saw them this morning—five wiry frames
huddled against each other for warmth.

The mother busy & vigilant—one black eye
peering at me over the lip of the nest. I made my body quiet.
Quiet & small.


When the wind riffles the timothy,
the insects still for a moment
before starting up all over again.

First hint of fall in the Aspens on my walk home today,
one yellow flare—bold & quick.


Little wren—
wide wet meadow—
how far from here

to over there?

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