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Friday, March 28, 2008

A haphazard sower

By Francis Scudellari

A haphazard sower
By trade, I am
Fore years (re)-collecting
With greedy hands--
Stretched, (im)-pulsed receptors--
Capriciously
Clasping seeds, on breeze borne;
So many missed
Trying, yet repeated
O'er time, enough
Caught, details in-word writ,
Samples heart-pressed

Out of e'er, safely kept
Abiding till
Filled to bursting, I reach
Within, shuffle
My minded book, unbind
These chance-chosen
Pages random pick, pluck;
Whimsy torn to(o)
Abstract bits, casting off
On trusted wind
Scatter-shot confetti
Swirled widely

Where crushed in fertile soil
By seasoned wheels,
Each turn around cracking
Dormant-laid husks,
Then-kernels take root, grow
Plentiful, push
Through crumbled surfaces
Our gathering
Future-fed harvest, just
Now imagined,
My fragmented self, whole
Again, (re)-born
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