Just yesterday, Grace, the next door neighbor,
puffed into the sky on fish-gill coat arms.
About evening orange, she drifted back
and snaked a blue balloon up the radio mast
to beam into space on light shards.
Today, Grace little-old-ladied her way
to the grocery store, then hup-hup-hupped
to the shade of the elm.
She was last seen somewhere
between owl hungry and Coahuila purple,
trout levitating up the sidewalk,
waving to the children
on their way home from school.
groundhogs waddle in moon shadow
on the fringe of the meadow
where ghosts of old farmers
assay the dirt, ponder the crop
planets rise from treetops
the sun pulls up from a fold in the karst
a round of songs lifts into the dawn
echoes down the ravines
in a tent in the wildflowers
the ornithologist dreams
of cataloging species
A cottonwood fluff drifts up through the window,
whirls in the droning, lands in a puff
upon her breast.
It clings to her sweater
in need of good, solid rain.
She spreads music on the stand,
stretches arms, leans forward
to put fingers to the keys,
and presses pudenda,
ever so gently,
to mahogany.
from the alley Mrs. Alvarez
watches the garden soak up rain,
looks over rotting leaves, ground well turned
she whispers the names of garden plants—
oregano, habanero, potato, tomato—
she shakes the umbrella,
crosses the street to church,
tells the priest she remembers
when fertility was life’s curse
In the garden, mists in quiet layers
fold under cottonwood and elm.
Sunlight sifts into the smoke,
cool breezes rise from the leaves.
Baseball gloves, a ball, an arc—
a mobile of the human heart.
The green at the window makes me
think of tender lettuce, new sprouted beans,
furrows in musty earth;
and I remember
as weeds grow unabated in the garden,
a waistline expands in increased benefits.
behind the prairie house
night falls in secrets
the swing cracks against the tree,
a sheet snaps in the rain,
heavy and alone
At sunset, cardinals and cowbirds,
black-capped chickadees and red-winged black birds
fall quiet in tangles of ditch willow.
The shadow of Lincoln’s tomb
pierces the city, knifes furrows.
rain falls through the linden,
quivers on an eyelash,
spreads across your cheek