Feb19 🕊

Twiglet toes, Scratch-glass sharp, Scratching grip To twiggy bones Of pines un-pined, Pining each calling Out with smoky breath frosting Morning fog and Frost branded branches. Reach, Bird, reach, With your fan-ful wings Thrown to sky To bow, bow, bow, On mat flecked with Embroidered lichen On scrapes of Silver birch scrolls. Ezra Pound was…