She rolls up her dressblue flowers over boxersnear the Black Muslim.At ninety-one, howmany other naps has shetaken in sunlight?The floor, worn awayinto grimacing profiles,into continents.The fly seeks the sun,never getting through the screenlast week of July.Her hair, purple wavesover a determined stare,guitar on her back.The terns flap southeast
Pen clenched in left hand,bent over her sudoku…our train cools down.To grandmother andgrandfather, his tattoo, butI don’t ask him why.Two umbrellas hungfrom the guard tower railing,not needed today.Balloon flowers,available in two shades;grade-school commuters.Ducks greet the sunriseI hear them but don’t see themas they plan their day.I put down my book
He didn’t shoot mefor looking at him funnyso here I am nowI’ll file my reportthe whiskey ran off with my nightleaving splintered sunThat pecking pigeoncould it wander through the doorsof the southbound train?A flagger, shroudedin bright orange; excavatorwaits for the whistleAnd I’m lumped in withthis whole busload, young to oldwatching the fall stormHoodied, with gnarled hands
Consulting summer's clock,But half the hours remain.I ascertain it with a shock --I shall not look again.The second half of joyIs shorter than the first.The truth I do not dare to knowI muffle with a jest.
The frog half fearful jumps across the path,And little mouse that leaves its hole at eveNimbles with timid dread beneath the swath;My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive,Till past,--and then the cricket sings more strong,And grasshoppers in merry moods still wearThe short night weary with their fretting song.Up from behind the molehill jumps the hare,Cheat of his chosen bed, and from the bankThe yellowhammer flutters in short fearsFrom off its nest hid in the grasses rank,And drops again when no more noise it hears.Thus nature's human link and endless thrall,Proud man, still seems the enemy of all.
The Winters are so short --I'm hardly justifiedIn sending all the Birds away --And moving into Pod --Myself -- for scarcely settled --The Phoebes have begun --And then -- it's time to strike my Tent --And open House -- again --It's mostly, interruptions --My Summer -- is despoiled --Because there was a Winter -- once --And al the Cattle -- starved --And so there was a Deluge --And swept the World away --But Ararat's a Legend -- now --And no one credits Noah --