When the blackberries hang
Swollen in the woods, in the brambles
Nobody owns, I spend

All day among the high
Branches, reaching
My ripped arms, thinking

Of nothing, cramming
The black honey of summer
Into my mouth; all day my body

Accepts what it is. In the dark
Creeks that run by there is
This thick paw of my life darting among

The black bells, the leaves; there is
This happy tongue.

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