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nembutsu.info
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Poets Corner
The owl called this morning,
along the hills,
through rain-damp streets
and puddles reflecting tangled branches
overhead. The owl called
from the dark of canyons,
even as light broke across the face of the far bay.
Out of deep quiet,
the owl called this morning
and blossoms paused,
still with the weight of dew,
too early, yet, to know their fruit.
( Copyright © Jerry Bolick, 28 January 2003 )