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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 6, Number 4, December 2012


Patricia Prime
Te Atatu South, Auckland, New Zealand


Notebooks in our pockets, we walk down the pathway that leads to the river, stop on the Japanese-style bridge to observe ducks and herons.

high in the branches
crab-apple blossoms
where last year
a friend juggled
with the fruit

In autumn when the river flooded, dragging sand over its banks, we went among the trees, greeting one then another, as if pressing cheek to cheek and they, in turn, extended a yellow touch or brushed us with their falling leaves. Two maples bowed and offered their glorious reds, and we walked in the woods, startled at a white birch or a pear tree looking as though it was made of glass.

sense of an arrow
three twigs form a triangle
in the ancient oak
we are worlds away
in a secret garden



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