The third in a series, Patrick weaves together a string of little insights of daily life in our neopeasant homefront. The poem takes place between late true spring and early summer here in Djaara Mother Country. A time of dancing, seed forming and night-chilling listening. Dedicated to Meg on her 47th birthday, for all the summer dancing that she is.
Dancing on the seed heads of our feralty (for Meg)
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