Garden Chorus

Daily, when my wife waters our drying flora Morning and evening during summer months, Her mood blooms atop weeklong seed grass, Our sun-baked garden speaks to her, more a Maiden chorus greeting their sister at once, Seeds fallen in turns, gathered and nurtured Since wind shapes reeds into narrow rows, A random symmetry, pleasing to …
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Just parked in the driveway as usual On inertia now, noticing springs uncoiling Like night crawlers in our rain of waited Out lawn-watering curfews, casual Conversations on everything from petroleum Products to fabricated spreadsheets shredded Into pleasant rats nests for the time being, If you don’t mind, until the pressure of scrotum Returns to our …
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Shuttle Debris

Such a beast as these jagged shards stacked amid flighty Scientific questions, sponge bathed lifeless limbs, stretcher, Armed military parade, wide load National Guard solemn Caravan toward hanger of reassembly, gathered in mighty Clipboard clutched white lab coat face-masked lecturer Cantering the melancholy catalog into microphone column, Filling our grid of numbers like garden rows …
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Down Hill

On the hillside our mothers stood in a chorus line, toes Pointed nakedly through sandals. Confused border collies Taking orders from instinct alone, fulfillment frowned Upon in one’s merely doing what feels what one knows (Quite correctly, by the way) is the right thing to do. All Through one’s life, feeling the tug of generations: …
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Incapable Tongue

Java tides erode smiles, warming tongues that gracefully move From subject to object, rich bitter concentrated dark language, The kind that burns as it comes and goes, in and out your throat. That acid, some sort of tannin, citrus hinted, a day off vinegar If somebody doesn’t check the temperature before the damage Sets in. …
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Windy Road

In the tall green; way beyond what needed mowing, The sun could have blown the lightning of your hair Again, a presence like a sheet snapping in the wind Flung across my face as though a crooked blowing Motion was all it took to bring us without our wits To this condition of quiet restraint, …
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That bottle gathering light These years on the window ledge, The one strand of ivy hanging Like an arm in the pond? But it’s nothing like that Once you remember the reason You drained it in the garden Between the statue and the hedge.