Backroad Scroll
Frog-croak
metronome
drones from
the yard’s edge:
green deepening
green; deepening
black. What calls
culls a sense
of distance—
the unseen
seen
through sound.
*
After two days
of rain
spring’s
sacrificial
flower
rusts
the fields
yellow.
Yellow en-
trenched in
green deep-
ening green
under low
cloud shade.
*
Constant bird clamor
gives the hours
depth and texture—
an illegible net
of noise
made legible
once the mind withdraws
to let only light in.
*
In a cardinal’s wake
a red streak
gashed clear
through gauzy haze.
*
To let only light in—
to allow the mind
to withdraw. Rain
falls from sun,
sky bright beyond
description.
*
Hay bales tied tight in a field
spaced evenly apart
like phrases
toward an unfinished sentence.
*
Night birds trill
as if to trace
an illegible net
through the dark,
to contain
what contains it—
to defy it.
*
Spring’s yellow
sacrificial
flower
surrounds
scrap metal
stacked beside
a weather-bleached
shed.
*
Off-white,
off-yellow—
both—tulip
poplar flowers
cloud sky
pale
with heat.
*
Japanese rose shrub
spilled up and over
the back of the shed
levitates—countless
flowers webbed—
a singular white blur—
under the Blue
Flower Moon’s
gray glister.
*
From this angle
low clouds lean
into scrub, dense
at the back end
of the yard. Wander
toward the center
where a space in weeds
and branches frames
a white farmhouse,
white fence,
silver silo
propping up
half-sunk sun.
May 8-20, 2019
Dover, Delaware
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The heat almost emanates from your words. I can smell the hay and the fields in the late afternoon sun.
Oh I love this so much. Slow, lush and sultry are the words that come to mind. Gorgeous.