tea-cream earth underoak
lying drenched in sun gleam
streams, a sky in between
the green sheets laid upon
and the beamyblues

breezes blew past
our post-modern monument,
and I shuddered like the towers,
as i was amply leafed.
strong winds knocked

branches loose, falling from
seventy-four inches up in the air.
a logjam tore a hole
inside my artesian mouth.
still, fresh spring water

found a way out,
taking a ride in a turnstile
cycling through
riffle and pool
all the way to its end.

clothes soaked, made holey,
by rain no righteous men know;
I tried my hand with a needle and thread
still trying to forgive,
a soft fabric to sow.