NaPoWrimo Day 9

 Nonetheless

They find out fungi know fifty words
which seems too few to sing their world-
they could not tell the sadness
of the ice cream vendor
in a cold April;
philosophy's
more their thing
perhaps,
or
maybe
lines of sun
caught up in dust,
instructions to use
the cilia of speak
meshed beneath our chilly towns,
where the children are lonely and
smile at the cold comfort of ice cream

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