inch by inch backwards

still inchworm green potato vine
spilling the patina-ed urn

cracked by last winter
perfunctorily glued.

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 $1,200 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

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