Spring Air

by Marcello Comitini

In the vast meadow of the fertile, blue sky,
white clouds graze, quenching their thirst
on the white, foaming banks
of long, still rivers.

The treetops, quilted in blue,
slowly dance in the wind,
the desire to soar and fly.

They dance without hope.

The earth that holds them nailed is part
of the spreading branches,
the sap of the leaves, the powerful veins,
of their woody, living flesh.

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Photo by Lorna Pauli

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