What sounds detach from the rim of a cloud? Tikkittik of a fork against enamel, rippippip as chaff might fly into the sun from grain. Slim ankles of lawn chairs stand in puddles of last night’s rain. Every surface is mottled, like rubbery silk on the backs of frogs. The bees, still drowsy, rise out of their gold-stitched cells. Skins of fruit, just ripening, provide the frontispiece. For the pages of her journal, the youngest daughter gathers leaves. With cellophane tape she conjugates them: verbena, hydrangea, lemon basil, sage. Kumusta ka? we prompt. Mabuti, mabuti. The hummingbird feeder rattles slightly in the wind.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- Cusp
- Interval
- Bel Canto
- Cures
- In the Summer Capital
- The Hourglass
- Glossolalia
- Frost has silvered the grass
- Fragment of a Poem Disguised as SPAM
- Clear bulb of coral inside a paper shade,
- This
- Lament
- Kissing the Wound
- Mythos
- Fire Report
- Intermission
- Dear animal of my deepest need, you want to linger
- Ghazal, a la Cucaracha
- Heartache Ghazal
- Rituals
- Founding
- Rift
- Devotions
- Ghazal: Some ways to live
- What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
- A single falling note above
- Precaution
- Flush
- Rotary
- La Caminata
- Paradiso
- Dear nearly weightless day,
- Chance
- Ghazal of the 1 o’clock caller looking for Pomona
- Breaking the Curse
- Instructive
- Flicker
- Milflores, Milflores
- Bad Script
- Ghazal of the Eternal Return
- Provisions
- Lavender
- Letter to the Underneath
- Stories
- Flickers
- Tall Ships
- Light
- Beneath one layer, another and
- Please
- Arbor
- Landscape, with Summer Bonfires
- Yield
- Fire-stealer
- Dear language, most thick
How evocative:
Slim ankles of lawn chairs stand in puddles of last night’s rain. Every surface is mottled, like rubbery silk on the backs of frogs. The bees, still drowsy, rise out of their gold-stitched cells.
Too lovely for the interpretation of tongues.