.
As I count crows
sitting on the clothesline
I see a shape in the distance
that I do not recognize
I move a little closer
but the ash trees bring a sad shade
and the lawn flashes its blades,
cutting directly to the heart
in syncopated beatings
like chopping wood in August
when the last saw
is locked away in the shed
I wipe the sweat from my brow
with a scarf scented of past evenings
chasing fireflies and drinking iced tea,
foggy memories in place of
bi-focals smeared and blurred,
unable to focus on the sticker burrs
pulled from my socks,
hanging on for dear life,
let alone the figure approaching
just past the produce stand with
apples and aspargus in season
Still I look,
peering beyond a fractured arbor
of beer bottle skeletons
situated at the far corner
of nowhere’s homestead, off-white pickets
and a rusted gate now
overgrown and over sown
in rows of corn field miseries,
shucked and burned in a steel barrel
down by the mud creek minstrels
playing broken strings
and bent tubas
When I realize it is you
coming home to me,
walking through the sunflowers,
an effervescent blue sky background glows,
roses bloom in pinks and yellows,
robins tend to their young
beneath a rainbow of blessings
in assorted hues and feathers
as what was once what I dreamed
now slowly becomes what I see,
returning to its former beauty
and the sun shines again