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When an obfuscated surface becomes the clearest mirror;
when I seem to scry a tip of spring
pushing through the winter of Chicago's discontent;
when friends start sprouting in the strangest places,
a phenomenon obeying nothing, save only the Tao;
when Birnam Wood, on the march again,
comes slam up against a riverbank, writhing through Georgia,
while a freak blizzard rages in North Raleigh ...
well, then! I guess it's time.
If you have comments on this poem, you are invited to e-mail them to "edelsont" at the domain "well.com".
This page created: 2009-05-02
This page last updated: 2010-05-06
© Copyright 2010 by Tom Edelson.