i chop the apple small

5:30ish a.m. already light
but no sunrise to be seen
for all the fog/mist tucking itself
into the ridges and valleys
and the fields that contour themselves over
_______
i chop the apple small
along with the walnuts and hickory nuts
that I mix into the pancake batter
_______
boring adult stuff i say
about the voicemail i left for
a feral nine-year-old turning ten
_______
the rhythm of me
and the grub hoe
slicing, slicing, slicing away
at clover, dandelion, an unidentifiable (by me) grass
and various other things coming up
in the wild garden

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a cave of light

it’s like putting a pass on the wrist
of a festival-goer
i say

about the price tags we write
on strips of plastic
before fastening them
onto the branches of shrubs and trees
_______
adrienne offering me a cinnamon roll
which she says she made out of the wrong kind of wheat
but i can’t tell – eating it while tending to the lilies
its wholeness reminding me of something
baked at sandhill
_______
all the wild life (a space there on purpose)
i’ve been lucky to see today:
a trutle walking alongside the gravel road i bike up,
one deer bounding along the other side of the road a little further up,
and later another deer, leaping with such impressive height
across a field,
the yellow and black and slight bit of blue of a tiger swallowtail butterfly
lilting along on the wind and a red-tailed hawk
(or something that looks red when seen from underneath – wings spread)
_______
the rain filling our buckets
off the slant of the roof how i whoop
when they are overflowing in the wildness
of the storm
_______
sunset seen in 360 degrees where green acres road
meets highway J i joke about how
we should have walked with our lawn chairs out there
and how the sky features many clouds of textures and colors but one
that looks like a cave of light
someone could walk up into

leafing and leafing up

between a cat and kitten
small and white and black and other colors too
sinus infected
sneezing a string of snot
out its small nose,
the glitter on its red collar
faded
_______
the palmful of black locust blossoms i bring in
and arrange in a tiny vase
the sweetest sweet smell
emanating
_______
on this hot day we eat
sitting in the hallway in front of the fan
placed in front of the side/back screen door
and take turns tossing the cloth napkin in its
breeze to laugh at which way
it will unpredictably dance
each time
_______
the clink
of an ice cube
in a small fine white with gold outline teacup
_______
the fava sprouts
that have punched through the hardness
of the once-wet then dried clay-ey soil
and are leafing and leafing and leafing
up
_______
the pine needle tea
steeping
in a glass pitcher in the sun
clear water slowly
becoming peach/gold

just bleeds, just spreads

two koi fish
orangey white pearlescent
belly up in a tub of murky water
in a garden cart parked at the edge of
the nursery pond
_______
the light just bleeds,
just spreads
i say

from behind the wheel
squinting
into the highway at night
_______
pearl’s tags jingling outside the bathroom door
while i shower the day’s heat off me
on the other side

a baby bleating as it crosses the road
in front of me
and we watch each other, fifteen feet apart
while say hi and slow-pedal past this fawn
still spotted with white
_______
the wingspread
the long feet out behind
the silhouette of blue heron gliding
against gray sky on my bike ride
workwards
_______
dragonfly with four wings
climbing around the bottom
of a plastic pot
its colors goldish
and shimmery
_______
the wheezy kitten
(white with black and brown)
with a bell on
whose sinuses i wish i could heal into being
the clear passageways
they are meant to be

they say squirrel

the three of us are talking about some shrub
or perennial and one of us points up into sky
where an eagle flies nestwards with something
dangling from it’s talons
the shape and looseness/limpness of the dangly thing
makes me think snake
but someone else can see better
and they say squirrel and yes
that’s what it is
tail flopping in the winds

paying attention to the rainbow recipe

up at 9am stretching
into the day there has already been
so much light out
_______
gray cat stalking push mower
as i, turn by turn, chop off grass tops
in the yard a reasonable size
for such a thing as a push mower.
_______
not vanilla
but a sweet smell
where i bury my nose in the
hard-boiled egg yolk yellow plus brown/red colors
of the petals
_______
a great migration of plant babies
(so many green sprouts)
fromĀ  exposed places to the shelter
of the porch
in the looming of a storm that, in the end,
never really arrived
_______
when a plastic bag of plastic bags rustles
down from the top of the fridge and i
startle or flinch at the sound
post-rat-trauma i say
_______
a number of people
taking a chance to step outside the cafe
under the steel-gray sky
seeking a rainbow that surely
must be being made in that light
how usually, i am the only one
paying attention to the rainbow recipe