Apologies to some of you who have seen many, many drafts of this! It's still a bit in progress, but for now...
Y
Unpronounced YHWH is
above the San Ysidro border unwinding
his network like a ball of yarn dropped
overhead, over your head
that is, roughly
year round the younger ones come
to bear fruit. Lie in the shade of a yew tree
whose berries are red with yellow
flares from the sun affecting
the ylang-ylang also
moving from the hothouse
to the highly fragrant
labyrinth maybe
with you
asking why the yeomanry
are ready
to give both eyes
all their aye-ayes for this
not-yet-named appearing
in yarrow
scented clouds
lie under and watch
yes
so easy you say it is
yar the way a
sailor might be
if his ship moves like a light year
and yielding waves are not
the universe yanking your chain.
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