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Spring Painting
She twists the leaves loose
to grind them like powder— goldens, rusts, amarillos, orange— the earth is Her palette.
Blooming sage and cicada wings, Whisper Her requests,
“Come rain, sweet rain,
Swirl thy hues,
Diffuse thy colors!”
She bleaches Her canvas,
White as snow.
The world eagerly stills,
Curious
for Her next Spring Painting.