Odes: To a Spring

Little tassels of sprigs
With a thousand moist eyes

Hips of my echoing homeland,
Heaving padlocks to vulnerable stars

And closing like a flower
Amidst mercenaries of snow
Impounding petals
Thieving stamens

You are the Libra,
Bosom of discarded eviction-notices
In the opaque chaos of shadows
And icicles sedating rivers


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