Ken Bolton / September Poems / 4.
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4 The palm The burst of fronds— that is its tiny head high up in the air higher, from here, than the church tower (‘higher’ even than the mountain, a green rugged shape— green with patches of grey— further back—above it, in uniform—today— hazey blue * ‘burst’? it is accurate, restful, calming as a cliche. As if one said “Of course,”