life is the network, 2

broad summer is no time for poems
not with sunflowers nodding, laden
garden spiked with color
dart of wings and cicadas singing

rather, all this haymaking over dreams
while the sun shines

some poetic justice though, heart-pause
for rabbit nestlings in the carrots

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…and huddles in the marigolds

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year of rest

The plum tree, puny though in full flush
of summer, all its neighbors lush in sun-glow.
Limp-leaved, drab. Last year—remember?—
its branches heavy-laden, juicy, buzzing,
a jewel among backyards, good provider
of jam. Winter, amber in promise. But now—
Rest, my dear. Dream away
these sunny days, rebuilding your strength.
Hold this green and gold reaching from your roots,
an encouragement.

watching the neighbors

dreaming crabapple, pomegranate-bright
paired cardinals, redbud, tulips bobbing
in tattered sunlight—I see people—
outside!—discussing the trim of a tree

strange

how nothing in pendant birch-pods
questing tendril peas nor even flight of bees
suggests an asteroid skimming past
only five times farther than the moon

 

…but it happened…asteroid info here.

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life is the network

it began with the rabbit
or with cutting down the shrub
roots bound in clay earthworms somehow
nourishing leafbud wet-scent soil
or with the motionless toad or
single butterfly plum-blossom hunting

with seedling kale chewed to the nub!
hyacinths’ sloped shoulders concentrating
rain-perfume or it began with
dog quivering the sudden storm
muscles smooth-bunched mud-grass torn
with instinct the terror scream

and now the rabbit
smaller than my two palms together
unforgiven for greengarden theft yet how
our hearts all race to collision
fruitless attempts to separate
life-sharp soft spring air

 

Title inspired by this article from NPR.

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reparable

moss
the lesson, if it could be
so simple: see how
the cobble-moss is tough
(we walk and wheelbarrow it
over) yet so easy to uproot
(even without intention)
to rake it out and away

arbor
we say it can be
no older than the house
(so younger than Us)
but see how it rots
where wood meets earth
and the fitting-together gives
until a strong wind (or mere gust
from the right direction)
threatens to topple it

patching it up
hammer and stake, a length
of twine, and this time
no need to make a fuss
if it holds

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