listen and read
An energetic but murky mating in the bog—
frogs thick in the muck, no leg-room between,
not like patio chairs arranged to stand
apart from each other, not like families
separated by miles or rage, not like ghosts
of those long gone, rather like crowding
into a blinding urge to dwell intensely.
Look at shimmering leaves in sunlight,
they never move alone. Unless you remember
autumn’s last leaf dangling on a branch.
But you won’t, in spring you won’t favor
a clan of faded ladies. I, too, dead-head
flowers to abet the next blossom.—Once
I walked in a field of peonies, of every color
and shirred petal. Blue dragonflies also visited.
The rain had stopped and the sun hadn’t yet
unleashed its strongest beat. Thus around noon
for long moments, we were all together.
from little eternities, Nodin Press