Tuesday, June 28, 2016

This time of year


This time of year, the clover in the lawn is the lawn. But there is grass too, prairies upon prairies, bees down bullet holes, wagon tracks, and noonday graveyards. The sun? Well, that might as well be peach juice running down your arm. Or maybe a lemon drop held to the roof of your mouth by your tongue. Hidden from the street by a song, I overheard a little boy tell a little girl what kisses are. Or maybe she told him. “Show me,” both of them said. Yesterday I wrote a poem that began, “crow on a limb.” Now, suppose I told you crow is a verb. What then? Is there any type bolder, than the type you have been? “Show me,” both of them said. “Here comes the wind.”



2 comments:

Jan said...

Sounds like summer and budding love to me...wonderful writing, William~

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Jan.....