Feast of Epiphany

First rain that douses
the rosemary and shrivels 
the outer rind of lemons.
Fog like a caul, gathered
in the arms of trees. 

Beginnings and endings— 
Which is the mouth that swallows 
the tail or splits skin cleanly 
down the middle, to leave it 
coiled flat like a garden hose? 

All the time I winnow for bits 
of language in my head. Some of them 
work free. Some swarm like dictation 
at my ear, or press toward sugar as one 
colony along faint chemical trails.


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