Three Poems

Cinema Paradiso

On a morning in November

words appeared at the end of my pen
like the answer to a question
I hadn’t yet asked.

One became a condor, another
a cloud,
while a third word, spinosity,
came to life in the dream of a thistle.

Which is more real,
the snow or the snowball,
the word or the letters of which
it’s composed?


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