When overtaken
By the youth
Of old
This here
Scrubbed pine
Got carved
A land marked
Oozing pitch
Gasping at
Tiny tundras
Wreathed
And ungrabbed
Moss
I claw my way
Inoriginal
Followed closely
By a fly
Of clouds
The die here
A small mirror
Tractless
Faints into
A whiff
Of sphagnum
It spores
Carried
Off to bed
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2013
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