Even now the tips
Content themselves
To laugh in drips
Each surface wit
A shiny cache
Of frightning
Whipping through it
Listen to the tips
That crinkle like tin
Careful-handled
Avoiding rips
Foil Showers
Foiled flowers
Thin as whips in the din
All the leaves free
As birds on a sneeze
Of the storm that be
So close in memory
All the leaves alone
Whispering others
Also alone
No sun now
No rain either
Yet they keep dripping
What more is left?
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