Ken Bolton / September Poems / 4.

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,” 

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