Literate running

Running with poetry dripping from the brow. The words slick and salty.

Then there’s flowers.

Then these words. Purdy’s words.

“…. In springtime they glowed
with gleaming iridescence
not just a tiny bouquet like the colours on a mallard’s neck
before mallards existed
or like god’s earmuffs
before Genesis was written
and even tho nobody was there to analyze it
they nevertheless produced a feeling
you couldn’t put a name to
which you could only share
like moonlight on running water
leaf-talk in the forest
the best things right under your nose
and belonging to everyone” (Al Purdy – Early Cretaceous)

Then, without time to bookmark that thought, the run ends.

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