On muggy summer nights
without air conditioning
it’s so hard to find just
the right, light blanket.
I want something like the moss
bordering a stony path,
blurry verge of all that flourishes
without our say-so,
a fresh fuzz so minute
one forgets that it is after all
made up of individuals,
each of which will in time
sprout green feathers
of dubious utility, learn
to save & spend slowly
in a time of drought
& wait for its own turn
in the common bed.
*
Just a reminder that submissions for the next issue of qarrtsiluni, The Crowd, must be in by Wednesday.
Love the “blurry verge” and the “fresh fuzz.” Although sadly, the title made me think of Michael Jackson.
Glad that worked for you, and I assure you any MJ echoes in the title were unintended. This is a good example of how being poorly educated in pop culture as I am can be a real handicap for a poet.
I loved this one, Dave.
Oh good. Thanks.
My kind of muggy weather blanket – and poem.
Thanks. Just this morning I noticed to my delight that a good-sized patch of moss has appeared in my dooryard garden. I’m going to do everything I can to help it spread. Might as well put all that damp weather to good use.
Like it. It IS hard to find the perfect blanket and, yes,
“I want something like the moss
bordering a stony path”
Said so well. You made me realize, that is what I want!
Hey, thanks for stopping by. Glad that struck a chord with you.