home is set square
storm clouds blow due north
carrying all that is untethered
to unplanned locations
while we remain
drenched in the sweat of
crepuscule with wind vane
There’s a lady, a pretty lady, she doesn’t care.
She doesn’t like people to stare
so she lives on a hill in the middle of nowhere.
The Fire in Heaven cooks up a fine feast.
Flowers face the brilliance that reveals me and makes a mirror of Earth.
The first tulip and some early strawberries and me.
The ducks and geese have come, flapping wings and ducking heads
while bees buzz in the blooms of the ladies of spring.
The first bloom of spring.
The garden grows beneath a layer of summer gone.
I combed dry leaves and branches
from parsley, asparagus, iris and lily leaves, green and crisp
and pulled on roots of grass and peppermint, to restrain them.
parsley in the kitchen box
the day waits for the truth
for the sun to burnish what is real
for lines to define more than possibilities
for more than hope
Misty morning on Paris Mountain
those who prefer to remain unobserved
still have to be who they are
even when unusual circumstances
reveal where they’re going and where they’ve been
I thought I discovered
the gooseberry bush but
when I mentioned it of course
he said he had spotted it years ago.
Of course because he regularly mows
the perimeter. But of course
I picked them and I ate them too.
Will your children drink when the supply
of plastic bottles runs dry
and floats in a dead sea,
devolved from you, me
and the idea of private property?