when droves of insects with silvered wings
cellophane the air with their flying?
What does it mean when leaves blow backward
and petals leave reddened thumbprints on the ground?
What does it mean when in the frame formed
by fingers I glimpse a boat floating out to sea?
Crickets begin their chorus as the moon lifts,
thin disc of metal hoisted by invisible pulleys;
and I grow pensive with all the birds that come
to roost in the crook of the crabapple tree.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- You seem to be carrying a lot of guilt,
- A leaf falls,
- From tree to tree
- Dia de los Muertos
- A dove calls and calls,
- Private: The Buddha sits at a communal table sipping a Prosecco
- Private: The Buddha in the garden thinks
- Private: The Buddha does not sing in the shower,
- The Buddha’s friend asks for her opinion
- What does it mean