temperate

blurry pine
needles bit-rot
the bubbles in its stomach
groanings at the elbows left
                        south
kissing hillocks always all;
expanding  lungs  like  laughing bark, 
and mix the sap and cry at clouds   is it 
    every day that never happens
hours and their shapes and melding,
        again a name again a face
again the heart inside
    every day anew 
                                    you