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The Patio

 

Where gray polyvinyl chloride meets 

Drying strands of grass, like wheat 

Which makes no grain, only waves 

In sunlit breezes through the day. 

Chairs older than my oldest tooth 

Wear metal grating wound with roots 

From ivys which do not know poison, 

Only sweet tea, coffees, the noise one 

Makes when they step into the morning 

After a night full of dreams like warnings. 

The wind chimes snake-rattle, the mint leaves 

Attempt infinity, bound in a pot that won't keep. 

And the sun loves me here. He sings 

To the top of my head, and makes me king.

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