tune to the key of
open everything
to hear
white crowned sparrow
sing at dusk
from the tall stand of dead bamboo
notes that reach
the muddy mind
being still, for a change
allowing the sweet shower
until there is nothing to think
nothing to do
turning
in time to see
sailing bedsheets pinned to a line, not quite dry
wave to the darkening sky
break free
not practical maybe
but in this case,
somehow fitting
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