April's thorn hedges
imprison singing crickets,
sure as turtle's jaws.
Locust blossoms cling
to this seventh springs twilight,
still you haunt my dreams.
From full pink moonrise,
barking dogs, stars far away,
I recall your fire.
Water sounds nearby,
geese and turtles splash through spring,
call from shore to shore.
Shores flanking streams, spring,
summer, fall, don't meet till cold
winter touches all.
Hair, white like goose down,
winter's moons, faded eyes, will
flank old memories.
In deepest winter,
cricket wings sing again, freed
by spring's memory.
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