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And yet another
By Kelley Jean White

house of seeds, comb of new light! life waiting
for fire to sow ash with greenling twigs
each perfect in its armored thorned tight fist--
to be not eaten or crushed or carried--
made to wait--ten years, more, a century
for one dry summer, week after hot week
without rainfall, thunder, even the mist
of dawn grown thinner as if it wearied
of making dew drop--in just this weather
at last comes the lightning, it strikes the hearts
of trees, a forest burning, jumping sparks
flames writing wisdom against the heavens--
we cannot read it, but the pine cones know:
they explode in heat-seed-new forests grow.





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Document last modified on: 12/09/2006

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