All the ephemerals are emerging—
Here they are at cafe tables, shrugging

off the morning drizzle as if it, too,
were a malaise of modernity (middle

syllable drawn out like a small stretch
of prairie), nothing that couldn’t be

fixed with a cup of good Colombian
coffee and a dose of the internet.

And in the rain, squirrels, gulls, and crows
work on their own version of bricolage—

collecting seeds and nuts, shavings, plastic
twine, leftovers from dumpsters in the parking lot.


In response to Via Negaiva: Up in the hollow.

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