grow

March 2, 2007

A filament poses like
Flaming June. The motion
is dizzying; I want to stay
to chase corn gods

but they will not be stolen
only kept and made. The morning
passes like a shiver. I sit before silver
grasses that guzzle light
and nudge pictures into my nets.

The sun seems
subtle as gossamer. It tears like a turtle’s egg;

I plant white, yolk, shell
beneath the willows:
everything grows for years.

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