through the lattice

hum of machinated harvest
off to the west
heard from hoophouse while i water
the baby greens and harvest
what might be the last bountiful
round of sungold cherry tomatoes
_______

distant treeline seen
through bared branches
all that orange-gold against gray-blue
just before the last glints of light
glow in from the west

_______

really, the skill is recovery he says
talking about how when we get
knocked of our bodies,
allowing ourselves to get knocked out and
then practicing and knowing
how to land back in
muscle memory

_______

the rhythm of drilling screw after screw
in reverse as we take apart
the privy ramp/deck
made of wood soft as
decayed forest floor

_______

strawflowers still
color-bursting into bloom
despite the night-freezes
how i clip them before
ripping their strong green stalks
from the beds

_______

cat-ifying the garden shed
i add a plank that leads in from
glass-less window pane
_______

trish offering a spatula-lick of
molten chocolate pre-birthday cake
chocolatey and cardamom
and then somehow we get to laughing
our asses off about
about the hike around that quilatoa crater
and how surely she hated me
and how comical it is to imagine
me dragging all that childhood baggage around the rim and
what a monster i was when it came to sharing covers
_______

mica and cynthia arrive in
shades-of-blue face paint(powder)
post-pre-dinner dance party

_______

shuffling through costume box
to try on variation after dress-up variation
of sequined things and
gold things and fedora things and
leather vest things
for tomorrow’s birthday extravanganza
_______

walking across driveway and
the molten moon careens into view
through the lattice of tree branches
coppery and gigantic
lifting up off horizon

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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