Citrine
bits scatter sown over
the
lake’s memory of black quartz
drifting
like golden, light filled dories.
So
the sowing goes all day
across
the broad field of the water.
Off
and on, in gusts
of
well-populated wind
but
sometimes in an artful dropping.
One
by one each leaf settles on its twin
until
the maples lose all their inhibitions .
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