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Morel Patch

Ghetto miraculous,
    tipsy monastery, mysterious

embroidery erupting rashly
    in thatch beneath the dying ash,

gnomic roofs of steep snows,
    bee skeps on hollow stems, blown

honeycombed tutulus
    with whiff of kiosk,

cloister, old world side-show
    trousered intimacy, glass-blowers,

or the throat swollen in filigree
    by a swallowed key, or bee:

intoxication, bell whose knell
    or tonic only time can tell.

Lisa Russ Spaar

Persea Books

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