Oh! The Earth bursts out between these weeds
Feeds the trees, please return these seeds as I left them:
With potential. Holy holy incredible the decibel of husk musk matter
We are a splatter of star latter, what-ever with weather, we sometimes
Grow… didn’t you know…
I thought is so, to sew the seeds of my father’s weeds and wait
By the mounds with resounding sunshine. With enough love
We will grow.
And when we grow the soil knows…
To look for seeds.
Poem 52 Edited – Poem 52 Revised
from last spring… it was spring today so it seemed appropriate
A cucumber could not taste as sweet
As arm hairs in a long forgotten breeze
Carrying chattering laughter of weather and what not
Across untidies—ever eager spring—comes grass
From eye level the down low dirt colors summerness
Becomes the pressures on elbows straining this afternoon’s
Latest failed attempt at slashing to to-do list
Waiting for the sun to prefer certain patches, clockwork
The excuses to-do nothing collect armies
Of cross hatched spear-seedlings: a barracks
Against the wide view of impending calendar crossing
for W who will be mine in four days
It’s the earth that comes up between these weeds
and feeds the trees, please, return just as you left:
Enamored. When you break and I’m broken
the weight of this accidental continental
drift pulls me away from myself and into
tremors. Truncate all the whisper-words
That meant more than sexual tension, though exotic.
When finally we came together and forgot misfortune
I found what innocence left in me to grow as seeds
or sprout like weeds: dancing infantile about the trees.
It was you all along promising happiness from sorrow
making wax candles of my worries, dip after dip…
When the seasons come together and reminisce of this
you and I will devour the sky winking of orbs and travelers.