the first arabesque of a new wild.
Category: meadow
Audubon walk
admiring a pheasant’s
dismembered foot
clouds in our airspace
and all this immigrant snow
clinging to our land
In penmanship class,
time itself was looped, recursive, as my vision blurred and fingers cramped around the cursèd pen.
The sky of my childhood
was full of places to climb and sit.
Resolution
I must never forget how exhilarating it felt to find myself briefly at the head of a mob.
Blue blood
belongs only to those with no need for veins, like a wanderlust that starts where the highway ends.
But fists are lonely
vulnerable things that can never match the strength of linked hands.
spicebush swallowtail
probing the beebalm’s red
forked tongues
Thanksgiving day
nothing but the sound of the wind
hissing in the weeds
