when a branch pulls at my sleeve
like a child’s tug, or the fog, reticent & thick,
lifts, & strands of it still hang like spun sugar
between branches & twigs, or when a phoebe
trills from the hackberry,
I believe such luck
is meant only for me. Does this happen to you?
Do you believe at times that a moment chooses
you to remember it entirely & tell about it —
so that it may live again?
--
Copyright 2022 Laure-Anne Bosselaar.First published in the Lily Poetry Review, Winter 2022
Laure-Anne Bosselaar's many books include These Many Rooms published by Four Way Books.
Thank you, Sean, thank you dear Mike!
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We are the universe’s way of knowing itself (Sagan said something like this…)
Yes I believe what you posit herein.
Thankyou for asking it again.
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Thanks, Sean.
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