Olive green blossom leaf
Set against the umber clay
Of the chimney pot
Where the pigeons
Share an intimacy
In the afternoon summer sun
As if a conversation
Was unnecessary
Before the butterfly flew by
Would it matter if I said hello
In an icy-breath kind of way
Black slate from the valleys
Set against freckled red brick
Where layers of shadows
Have asked intimate questions
As the tall conifers looked on
Now, for absolute certain
Words must be spoken
To encourage the flowering
Of the yes-no interlude
In a need to respond sort of way
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