The ****** plugged the culvert.
Overnight.
Again.
New growth, cut short. Chewed short.
Grasses. Mud. Stones.
Branches and leaves and muck.
Roots from the far-below.
And this time.
A lotus flower. Sprinkled in dirt.
But alabaster otherwise.
Atop the waterstop.
Brilliant as a clear mind. White as an,
an as an an an anything overexposed to the point of
newness.
Bees in the rain. Tending to purple
spires that no one planted.
A hawk in the birch again.
Green heron plummets toward the pond’s
edge.
10:08
Outdoor shower in thunder. It calls. She calls.
Poem ends.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 8:45 PM UTC
The ****** plugged the culvert.
Overnight.
Again.
New growth, cut short. Chewed short.
Grasses. Mud. Stones.
Branches and leaves and muck.
Roots from the far-below.
And this time.
A lotus flower. Sprinkled in dirt.
But alabaster otherwise.
Atop the waterstop.
Brilliant as a clear mind. White as an,
an as an an an anything overexposed to the point of
newness.
Bees in the rain. Tending to purple
spires that no one planted.
A hawk in the birch again.
Green heron plummets toward the pond’s
edge.
10:08
Outdoor shower in thunder. It calls. She calls.
Poem ends.
For Sarah Noble
