Trash day: two crows cackling like spruikers
hawk wares and dodge implacable diving
swallows busy feeding greedy hatchlings.
At this juncture, nothing rhymes though I count
lines I lade with first light’s blessings. Sessions
at dawn my saving grace. I ground and sound
and shiver by cool lake, forsake old pains
resounding, soothe inner brooding/feuding.
It’s all here. My fractal precise and clear.
So out I go, bare feet upon the land
through these wet green surprises delicate
rose-lit, sublime morning’s drenched beguilement.