inch by inch backwards
still inchworm green potato vine
spilling the patina-ed urn
cracked by last winter
The lilac and white butterfly spears
beckon the pair of yellow finches and sleepy queen bee
taken down by torrential rainfall.
Tomorrow I shall wake surprised
and be better at everything—myself, my doorways of paper folded carefully
into sailboats and morning doves, eyes alert searching daybreak
for worthy questions
of travel micro-behaviors grandiose thoughts
the flamingos perched at some other shore contemplating herring.
But tonight I will allow myself lazy wanderings
lie back in the hammock study the dead ancient pine
cradled in another pine’s arms before
tomorrow’s $1,100 removal.
Yes, tomorrow I shall do and think everything
Better, more clearly.
I shall sit in my elaborate garden of petal flow and flowing tall grasses
Graced by the subtle summer wind.
I shall sit and tell you