Poems

I think I hear Julian of Eclanum

One story as a boy.
Up on our hills I’d say
clouds are farther away
than the same ones
from deep in the gullies,
eucalyptus in my nose,
red scimitar leaves
all over the stream bed,
the story of talking to myself
preserved in air

like the dirt-smell
I disturb scrambling back up
breathing eucalyptus voices
from the beginning
Adam, Solomon, Jesus,
George Washington.
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