Eye of storm

I hope I am not now in the eye of a storm
For a change let me talk yellow in lines
In place of white on a  night black board
Convinced this passes behind the eyes
Of a liquidity gently touching the inner eye

How I wish the bird soon enters its sound
A mixture of sound in soft eyes, a redness 
Bristling like a leaf-end in  a gentle breeze
Of a yet to arrive rain from hills, to the plains
Its tingle yet in the imagination of the skin,
A fragrant earth promised, a cloud hanging.


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