I arrived at six for an early start,
only to find that a cloud had coughed,
spat, or birthed a fog onto the lawn,
midwifed by polearms of corn
under silver doctor's eyes
of cooling car. Beer tabs snicked
away as a giant cheerful beast
slouched and stalked us
with candy heart and whetted tooth,
snapping at pipe smoke enemies,
patrolling our hands with hope.
Lives roll along, we all find:
men and women having a hard go
of it in hornet houses, or exes
who tent us with doubt even now.
The fog has burned away and the lawless
calligraphy of insects weaves and wreathes
the rising air into which exits are engraved.
Time enough to slide the highways
back into the busy hours
of porcelain hearts - easily chipped
but good enough still for daily use.