She Listens to the Rhythm

She listens to the rhythm
of branches, frogs croaking,
in the apple orchard.

She stands, bowing her head
to the moon, and strands of hair
net light.

She told me huckleberries grow
close to the earth, describing
their ripeness and taste.

She watches a seal surface
ribboning the water and magpie lopes
into a pool of blue-grey junipers.

She polishes a star,
erasing the moon, and I compose
one round sentence.

Earle Thompson

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