Morning Myth

Hand me a new life like a leaf on your palm,
a large, light, tropical life
damp with milk sap.
Only to float
in this thermal spring
til the tide floods in

pleads a leaf when I ask
May I get you anything.
Already I feel a change
in the onshore breeze,
sense the pull of currents
the sea like a spider spins—
distant oracles, personal storms
almost threatening.

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