Whatever it is

This entry is part 10 of 19 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Summer 2015

Green pail overturned in the garden,
the creaking hinge of a gate.

*

Above pebbled blankets of cloud, the sound
that groups of birds make, flying south.

*

The sticky wad of silk a spider wrapped
around a pouch still faintly pulsing.

*

Pale slick like melted butter
around a rising moon.

*

Branches that gave fruit after fruit
now mired in difficult remembering.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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