New Mint Ephemera

It is born! A city made flesh, in trunk and in limb,
hidden allegiances and unknown heretofores,
borne aloft on the shoulders of itself.
Data rains down on inverted rooftop umbrellas,
puddles enmassed to sustain the need for puddles amassed.
Did you chase me out of the garden?
No, I left of my own accord, just as you made me to.

Did you see? Thoughts receding into nesting dolls,
outcomes flickering in the silverspeared tallgrass.
The front turns sharp, and scrapes
her steely bow across the wire fence;
clouds grow heavy like eyelids, the lattice of sky ever narrower,
the evening soil tilled and turning and turned.
Two harts in murky wood, foraging,
the rain held in swollen creeks, crenulated flatleaf veins,
trickling ploughlines down half-regarded bark.

(Listen! The singing of a song:
The alien heartbeat of another's faith?
The wheezing hurdygurdy of a lifetime's disagreement?
The hammered pelt of sheeting rain?
A single cricket and her answered call
From a porch-swing pendulum?
A twilight's accounting, these enduring freedoms;
The sky is rent, and so there we fall through.)

At last! A clearing of the mist:
Or does it re-form? Re-sume and
resemble into something you can lean on,
Something reliably vague,
Something comfortingly absent?
Ashen-pansy tinted tufts dot the curtains of the day,
The sky-bowl's dregs; the barring of nature's gate.
How indeed, to temper such endless erosions?
To embrace or withstand such beauty so given, so withheld?

Hope without action is like a picture of food.

Someday my Prince will come. Until then, we can eat our dreams.

Happy Fathers' Day.

What is green?

"What is green? What does that mean? Americans in general need to take a look at what makes America great." – Lee Vince, sales manager, Woodfield Hummer