Time to Play

Now it's time to play. Nobody says,
like they used to, but in my bones
the desire overwhelms me. "Write!
Make a poem," say the bones.

The inlet will come first. It always does.
Water calls urgently, "egret." The waterbird
that moves elastically over the surface
making everything focus soon or late.

Now my hand enters. It always does.
It gives the bones reason to observe.
It makes the egret the finest thing in sight
and the water intelligent north of here.

Water is genius because it is interconnected.
Drop south knows drop north.
But the bones will lose their joy
if the bird overwhelms the old playground.

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