just to see how you’re
faring up there
with little company
just the odd bat or hare
that careers around
‘turning the world’
so you tell me. I gather
you snap your fingers
in the face of the east wind
feel the moon groan as she
learns the ropes again
tangled among branches
that you bend, so you say,
to shake her free. You tell me
good will prevail, all
shall be well etcetera,
the same old saws I suspect
you rehearse when you
spot me toiling uphill
in my torn coat, expressly
to listen to your havers.
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