you
for whom everything is certain
brush through the late spring
with the eager disinterest of a spaniel
stealing sandwiches from a stranger's picnic
you
do not notice these ferns
curled around in turning cartwheel
fingers held in buddhist contemplation
of shared energy of the body
you
want to know why I am interested
in these plants immemorial
that have not been mentioned
in this week's newspaper opinions
you
bring a book next time we walk
to refute my claims
of greatness
for the leaves now spread
The Blue Book
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