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Three meditations on one thing:

there is a blue mist over the street
and under the trees it is raining

What they see shifts
as it moves from eye to eye.


blue mist over street
rain under trees—
isn’t it winter?
snow on trees, over streets.


Came then a mist bearing rain, thick with wind,
so the people stiffen cold with fear and the foreknowledge
of coming things.  After many hours of storm and fear
I give them sun broken through clouds, the calm of the sun.
Their streets are dirt, and they are a dirty people,
as they must walk in mud after I think of rain.


there is no blue mist here
except just before rains fall,
shatter blue-clear on limbs of trees
and create a mirror of the street.

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