Reflecting (#3)

I think of the roses     — the last of four month's
flourishing     — of the pepper plants

/ along with the carrots holding on     — the late
garden prospering     — and the sauces —

prepared and bagged     / cellared to bring upstairs
to warm a mid-December kitchen.

After a week the stocks and all the mighty buyers
paled     / a weekend with you Elizabeth —

I'm tucking another Monday in     — with four nights
to dream of three days spent together

/ four nights to miss your eyes     — to miss you
outdoors     — biding the keen-mown lawn

a german shepherd muses     / finding the spot exactly
where the moon spills over it.

The buyers ( I think ) can have their ways and ways
tonight     — wary ( maybe ) of fall

and other forces and Octobers     — leaving me here
till Friday's come     / till hill-topping char

breaks up to blue in front of me    — sweeter than words
/ than poems with all of their odd colors —

sweeter than words and woods and much too certain
weathers.  The pleasure's in motion

this afternoon     — to be pleased     / be loved     — be
moved by the chill and dream-drawn prayers

and concert times     — remembering these coached men
come to mid-lives in performing —

and     — in every syllable      — the castles and kings
/ arcades     — the straws in the coke

and you by my side Elizabeth     — sweeter than words
and ( maybe ) even closer than we hoped for —

as the lead / the bass / the tenor harmonies     — phrase
after phrase     — explain     — whole fields

of how and why brought near and then examined —
until it must all seem code


we're blessed to be let in on     — recalling his own
and now more fully imagined lifetime —

as supple as closeness and splendid seem     — these
hundred-and-some-years seem —

and every name we think     — Bobby and Harvey
/ Prentiss     / "Pete"     — each sea-sawing mood

improved upon     — each stillness renewed
and authorized and added in

for rhythms.

 

© Appetite (2)