Through the maples, red and green,
the early morning light intrudes
into sprinklers and onto lawn beneath
with color of hazy milk or semen
escaping into the swirl of bath water,
mist in the channel of beams.
The cube of lawn is bordered by
concrete walks, and the walks by
red brick buildings: some recent, some not.
Each summer it is the same.
Everything is maintained in motion.
Between the Spring and the Autumn,
new learning and old, there is
the geometry of intersection.
Black cat on freshy cut lawn,
feral and short haired,
watching and listening with tilted head
to the sounds and motion of the bunch grass
and foxtail hiding pleasure and pray.
The breeze moves both weeds and fur.
Grey and black asphalt streets,
smeared oblongs of checkerboards
from trenches and patches.
Autumn and Spring bring fresh
bue, white, and yellow parking
lines for parents and children.
Winter blurs them.
Surplus items: severed and stuffed heads,
we did not kill them and have them preserved,
but somebody did. Somebody donated them,
was it a naturalist or a hunter?
We just inherited them in some move.
Bear and caribou, reindeer and elk,
skulls and hides, teeth and feathers
gathering dust in the corner,
too creepy to keep,
too sensitive to sell.
These four pieces were originally published on triod.com in about 2015. They are separate pieces, but as an experiment I decided to see if the four of them could become a gestalt. Let me know if it works, thanks for reading!