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.
Comments
Post a Comment