Friday, May 12, 2017

Notebook Crackles: 12




Notebook Crackles: 12

Grapefruit in a glass jar, ice on the left knee,
milk over almond granola, an obituary-gray sky
outside: don't make a break-heart promise.

Memory: a one-candle Irish bedroom
in Donegal, a valley in gold morning light...
scent of fried bread and eggs in a bed & breakfast.

The Rainbow Goddess, two-thousand years old,
is sleeping off urban drugs, conked-out
in the cold, greasy bottom of a farmyard burn barrel.

Against a moment of hollow,
recent death of a friend to kick off the month,
there is your youngest daughter's iris garden...

laid-out... planted twenty years ago:
luminous purples and whites....
poplar shade and specters at-frolic.







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