April 25 2015 poem


we’re like a glacier leaving a trail
in our hurtling maneuverings for convenience
whatever’s needed’s forced import like
for inhabitants of Alaska

Tattered matters dash past, the handle
let loose on a neighborhood, some
future land bank

Unleash summer’s moist green season

Dip us in fat softness of renewal

Think, just going down the freeway
past the rubbery clusters of chicory
Queen Anne’s lace, secret feet of
animals living quietly
on sacred soil

~ Lady


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