spring-time economies unsprung

reaching to you through time,
my fingers brush against shadows,
reminiscences spring up and flourish
into semi-existence, triggered
by a meaningless mingling of
a casual word and the whisk of fragrance carried by wind;
the chestnut-trees place
not-yet-milk-scented candle matrices
in the branches of new-shot leaves,
and the thrush sings like a scalpel, deeper
and deeper into what used to be
our common past.
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