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During Zazen

this evening I heard your voice
in the thin throat of a swallow.
Between the notes
she placed gaps
that were fallen seeds –
delicate ovals disappeared
to summer soil –
come early October
yellow squash, round as a mountain sun
lie waiting to be severed from fattened vine,
while apples, purple-black figs and white peaches ripen
under the short lived light,
and foxglove, Bishop’s weed, hydrangeas, Celosia,
all the summer so steady in bloom and color,
fade to the hardening earth.