Door

A haze of jewelweed sprouts, the dimpled embryonic leaves like conjoined twins.

From the valley, the sound of horses pulling a buggy in their eight steel shoes.

The crooked sassafras— something has found under its bark a blood-colored door.

Dave Bonta

Learn by heart: tap a gap

A haze of sprouts,
the dimpled leaves
Open the trainer

Keep going on the web or in the app.

Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem

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