Oddments

In search of story


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Connections: January 11.18

It’s a world of mud

outside my door

sodden, spongey

barren bore.

It’s a sky of mud

dark and flat

spitting drip

and dribble and splat.

No light, no color

etc., et al.

so I turn my eyes

to Southern Cal.

Lifting me

to brilliant blue

this silver bonfire

makes me new.

Or is it wave

or maybe wing?

It doesn’t matter;

the sun’s the thing.

In such an image

the light’s outreach

touches me

in winter’s breach.

This bleak faux spring

is quite escapable

as long as I am

daydream-capable.

 

Many thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives and the curator thereof for this wonderfully warming photo.

Connections


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How wet is it?

Summerwet
this air of spring
porridge-thick
heavy
choking

Cats and dogs
they say
the rain pelted,
slowed to lazy,
now hovers
in drip
and wilt

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Free facewash
no towel
— patience —
awaiting
bug lick

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Too wet
to stand
too heady
the quaff
not to nod over
into mud bath

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Too wet
not to clamber
curling
from lightless places
through cracks
holding to
burled
pebbles

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Wet enough
for changeling
— lily to bromeliad —
slurping rain
downleaf
for safekeeping

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Wet enough
to gather
midrib
mercurial domes
quaked
by breath
of showery breeze

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Against a thirsty future
the earth gulps
and saves

Meanwhile
a rainbow

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