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Andrew Hamlin
My window ticks once
at a brushstroke from the rain
wind keepsakes the rest
But how many friends
can you have, if all you see
fills all that you know?
Banana milk, drunk
years ago, long-dead diner
returns to my tongue
The night crests morning
only my two stinky feet
keep me company
Teakettle whistles,
but it’s in another room
along with my mind
How proud of my words!
Cut it right below at the stem
Where it bursts out of the soil
Seeking light and rain and air
The soil softened with the fallen yellowed leaves.
In the grove,
Warblers might be twittering
Pheasants would be muttering
Doves would be cooing
Lizards would be basking
In the sun.
The lone old cobra would be huddling,
Its last skin too, shed.
Above, the green slender long leaves
Would be chattering in the breeze
The poles, a-yellowed, a- green
Would be listening and smiling.