Small Song: Laundry:

Bellied out, aloft, and flush with sun,
like meadow-mist beside the morning river:
how tired we made you!
And how tired we had become.

Now, emptied of our restlessness,
you breathe your own white life.
--And there, like ghosts of meadow-grass,
our shadows shining through.


- Jan Zwicky,
from Thirty-seven Small Songs & Thirteen Silences

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