For a Walk

by Carand Burnet

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for Nicol Allan

We reveal ourselves
underneath thin birch leaves
that toss like flattened sparrows
So many indecencies- it is fall
and the children core then
swallow the sun
Though other things begin:
drafts, plans, purposes,
no more history miscounted,
no more compasses or half-opened doors
Take me to where she left this morning
so gently
To the right our dismantled geography
construction workers
open   and   seal the earth
At every minute even more than that
sea glass light gives way
The static cold against the chest
lie down only once into it
Down the street the oaks
only bundle-up in red
And finally the noon wind
diagrams and charts each street
too strong to set aside



Carand Burnet poems have appeared in ken*again , Omphalos , and others. Currently, Carand is a correspondent for Art New England and resides in western Massachusetts.

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