we are opening up a seam

awoken by the woven warbles and whistles and songs and calls
of all the birds as the sun
pulls itself up out of the horizon
and not long after
i lace on the running shoes
and head towards the bright orange orb whose glow i can see
through the trees
and as i crest the first hill
opposite the tree-fruit-sun (peach? apricot? orange?), glows the film of the
just-shy-of-full moon
heading west
_______

surfacing back onto sandhill road
after pacing myself to the bridge and back and running
over the passage of a train under the bridge
to find three while turkeys roaming the gravel 
then skittering off into the woods
when they see/hear me
_______

darien furrowing rows while 
dottie and trish and i plant the potatoes before 
baigz comes through with the helpings of compost and
then trish hoes it all back together again
(how when we furrow, we are opening up a seam in the earth
and when we hoe it all back together again, we seal the seam up)
_______
outdoor temperature registering
at 81 degrees
on the thermometer perched
in the kitchen
_______
i thought there could be no bigger oh shit since what’s his face was elected
but now i hear he’s playing carelessly at war (not that i condone even carefully planned war)
and yet again i want to make another metaphor
about how infantile
how juvenile
how he seems to be at the stage where he hasn’t yet developed empathy (which generally comes in around age 8)
and racts spur of the moment and spontaneously
with the most hideous actions and decisions
like stomping apart his friends lego set before thinking about
the consequences and the shittiest part of all
is the so many things jeopradized (the lives jeopradized for instance) by his rash actions
from the water world:

Girls dressed in traditional costumes run as men throw water on them as part of Easter celebrations in Mezokovesd, Hungary.

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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