Poem: Fragments March

for the first time this year.

Walking under springtime sunshine,
Counting fibonacci numbers on
abandoned pinecones.

Perching on logs by the water’s edge, and
this early warmth.

A bell rings distantly,
carries across this first clear sky.

It is not
And the crisp, curled corpses of leaves shudder
above and fall still again
to dry and dessicate further
in the new spring sunshine.

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