how a water tower disappears

dottie trying on coveralls
at a stand at the flea market and saying
they fit height-wise but are too big width-wise and a man walking past
whose kind/warm face and short white beard remind me of french (the carpenter who made many fine things at this farm) says you’ll grow into it

_______
when the day begins with a stack of holograph-y lion stickers
for a mere 25 cents

i say
then i can’t help but think
it’s going to be a good one

 _______

the woman at the stand where i buy a $4 radio
peeking her head out from their shed to find that the water tower whose location i inquire about
is no longer there
and how we all laugh about the mystery and weirdness
of how a water tower disappears
_______

discussing things like joy and suffering and attachment on the porch during lunch
and how i know i am already attached to the small ceramic electric kettle with a few flowers printed on it in orange and blue and maybe purple and green
i found today
for four dollars

_______

first there is the darkness that is my shadow
on the white rock/gravel road and then
the green jug shape along with it
as the sun passes through the green glass that i carry
_______how every single disc i attempt to throw today
is a wild failure as the wind
tugs our hats off our heads
and hooks into the edges of
the plastic disc as we attempt to toss and catch it

________

although i love the spring peepers
my proximity to them and their almost high pitch
(along with the recent frog addition to the chorus)
prompts me to shut the windows and door
and reminds me of the importance
of earplugs

_______

the red petals of the first tulip
gone wild 
(curling/bending every which way)
in the wind
_______

not quite full yet but still
the silver moonspilll
across everything
(orchard blossoms, metal roofs, the single streak of cloud in sky – you name it)
is stunning

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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