Cacophony

It must have been

an evening in early August

when ‘cacophony’ was coined.

What other moment

could have minted

such an awesome articulation:

the world’s most perfect word?

The Unheralded Life Arc of a Scrap of Iron Ore

Behold! The unheralded life arc of a scrap of iron ore. No pomp, no circumstance. Handled by a hundred human hands, regarded by none.

Chicory

Ode to the summer roadside’s unassuming garland

Tomato Plants in Late June

Tomato plants in late June

don’t smell like anything

except

tomato plants in late June.

Singular unto themselves

their redolence subsists…

The First Sunday Evening in June

The first Sunday evening in June

is like that famous score by John Cage

titled 4’33”…

Willings

I. A man stores away his heavy winter gear in the second week of March. “I’ve no need of these ‘til November at least. Spring is here at last.” . He locks away down linings and microfleece, with reasons to believe: a skunk was in the trash last night and he spied a robin on

Down the Cellar This Morning

Suddenly, without warning, without precedent or prelude, On a dreary January morning, in the grey and lingering damp, It happened that Summer startled me— quite unannounced and unexpected. It shocked me, there in the cellar, sifting through cobwebs, extension cords, milk crates, and mesh bags of walnuts— the implements and incomplete aspirations of Saturdays past.

Peaches

Every summer it happens—It happens that I become paralyzed,Paralyzed, that is, with the decisionAs to which of my girlsTo nickname “Peach.”The paralysis stems from the considerationThat each one is worthy,And to a verifiable extent:Dear to my heart,Locally sourced,As fresh as summer dew,With a hint of tartness,Rosy as the dawn,And a sublime companion to waffles. July