shining through

name four things you can see from up here
that you can’t see from down there
i say to emory
both of us in our respective branch perches in the white pine
whre we do our best to
lounge in a shady spot
which means we don’t climb
as high as we can but rather
strategically locate ourselves somewhere between halfway and three fourths up
i can see the top of the chimney on the whitehouse he says
i can see over the chicken yard fence i say
_______
emory in his long trunks and me in a sports bra and short shorts
swinging up into the air
side by side while the sprinkler
hits us with cool cool water
and the distant thunder rumbling as we kick up and up and up
_______

it’s the kind of sky i can’t help but regret
not seeing the entirity of
an an unnameable quality of light
blasting through the edges of the brightest-white puffiest clouds
but to the west the clouds are a veil
of antique cloud colors
and to the east, whisps float in and 
the sky is the bluest blue and 
later there’s that ember-like glow of the sun as it lowers
shining through the branches of trees
_______
the rainbow that arcs in the east
as seen from the tomato patch
where i use my entire body
to hold up falling over plants
while i unravel and draw the trellis twine taut
row
by row
by row
_______
from the water world:

A man carries a basket with wild mushrooms on a flooded street after a rainstorm in Kunming, China. – voice of america, day in photos

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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