PICNIC

the picnic

a quiet bell tolls from someplace far enough to make it so

carried

by the same delicate current of air
that wafts a perfect mixture
of her sun-warmed perfume
with the runaway scent of a distant thunder cloud

across
a
yearning
yellow
blanket

to an overwhelmed smile
that trembles at the effort
of distinguishing
which is more consuming

March/93

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