the evening
hears the chickens cluck
they eat tomato seeds
from an attentive keeper
the spider lady plants
lean against the old wood shop
lavender hookers
the sun is dripping
down the house’s western
grapevine growing side
and the wind chimes
are playing
counting flowers on the wall
by the statler brothers
the garden is in a state of grand decline
purple faced petunias
who don’t know
not to be beautiful
float upward after drinking rain
the picnic table
has a centerpiece
of foxfire
glowing
for the half august moon
the smell
of fall
a notion
harbored
within the breeze
upon my face
i fear the coming winter
and
for two hundred year old trees
roots weakened
by shifting soil
that remembers
native curses uttered
this earth parched for water
of provincial people
composed
and
carbon bonded
of a more
egalitarian
molecule
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