The big picture
posted Monday, 23 June 2008
changes when air closes in, the fog hangs tight
and I forget all beyond the tree-woven roof over
my steps & porch, the hot wet rosy white radishes
I bite with a strawberry that gives to the touch.
My 9'X9' patch of dirt yields salad after salad
and the longest day just gone. I am
mosquito bitten knees, those brief stars of fireflies
hanging in the rhody and over the driveway
like these paths belong naught to me
but to the pines, the red patched woodpecker
who woke me with the sweetest alarm.
I leave windows open for the night song,
the phantoms of fiddleheads—angelic the pine tree
sounds of sonnets and some one to write them for.
and I forget all beyond the tree-woven roof over
my steps & porch, the hot wet rosy white radishes
I bite with a strawberry that gives to the touch.
My 9'X9' patch of dirt yields salad after salad
and the longest day just gone. I am
mosquito bitten knees, those brief stars of fireflies
hanging in the rhody and over the driveway
like these paths belong naught to me
but to the pines, the red patched woodpecker
who woke me with the sweetest alarm.
I leave windows open for the night song,
the phantoms of fiddleheads—angelic the pine tree
sounds of sonnets and some one to write them for.
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