An attractive hearth, and the assurances afforded
by the Popol Vuh. What a thread of saffron offers
the broth. Wear a sprig of Artemisia on the Spring
Equinox. The towhee beds in the boxwood, shielded
from a mountain wind.

Familiar creak of a friend ascending the stair, to share
a meal. A brandy before the lighthouse begins its service.
Kind thoughts for those who steer by its science.

In the time when people still believed
storks hibernated underwater, on the beds
of rivers, how delicate the ferryman’s job must have been.

                                                                                                    --Whit Griffin

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