Poetry

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A sunweb stretched between branches: we swing thoughtfully
among the dry shadows and silences of leaves.

***
I've been thinking about the growth of leaves in green cocoons
glued to the gnarled branches of old oaks.
And the sweet scent of unfolding flesh dipped in evening dew.

***
A study of things tightly shut: polished smooth by incessant thought,
their inside soft as a swirling tongue.

© Zuzanna Nitecka
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