I could barely keep
my eyes open after digging
in the dirt, out in full sun,
hands mint-wreathed as though
tomorrow might never come—
The soil warm
as affection, clouds
banked somewhere else; rain held
temporarily in abeyance— How easy
to forget how the end of a breath
has the same sound as a sigh;
how the scent, the music,
become richer and more clear
as the body leans deeper
toward its fall—
[LAG-other-response date=”05 25 2013″ url=” http://yeosi.wordpress.com/2013/05/18/small-stone-242/” title=”thus: small stone (242)”]