the rapid thwapping

cheeping and fluffy yellow
all cute and round-billed
tucked into the a-frame in the chicken yard
where emory leads me to check out the ducklings
who hatched according to schedule

the slurp slop sounds
of my bare feet
in look far soil
so wet from the recent rain
that i sink in sometimes well above my ankles
as i work my way up/down the
just mulched beds planting
the final two rows of amish paste seed tomatoes
how i have to take a break at some point
from the slip-slime mud everywhere
have to wash my hands clean
my heels
(which the mulch sticks to)
and i make some comparison to those
in the humidity of vietnamese jungles
which seems weird
but something about the non-escapability of the elements
rings true
they’re designed for damp/moist climates
darien says about the japanese style wood clogs
he made and is wearing
(two vertical pieces of wood as the sole/heel
and one horizontal piece attached to those
and a piece of rope to keep the clogs on
by nestling it between toes
much like a flip flop strap)
spanish tortilla javier calls it
the fluffy egg-yellow round thing
cut into squares
surprising me with its potato salad-like texture
paperwrapped and ribbon-tied with grass
a darien-carved spoon (in other words:
quite perfect and an aesthetic delight to behold)
as an appreciation in exchange for the poem-to-go
about sacred slowness and the snake
the rapid thwapping of huge luna moth wings
against karma kitchen window
where the light leaks out as i bring
a tucson special soup
to a boil and:
1. i wish i weren’t a human using electricity
at this moment because the thwapping sounds
panicked and painful
2. the majestic appearance of this creature
who lives only 3-7 days
(in this form)
will never cease to
give me shivers
to the point that this is one knuckle tattoo
(luna moth)
 i can totally get behind


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