The gum-nut caps,
Like tiny, fragile tea-cups
Crunch underfoot.
-
-
The willows are old,
Many-trunked, and hollow:
Habitat for wasps. -
Across the room
A fly takes off. Weaves, whirls, lands,
Iridescent green -
The rain-storm prowls. Sniffs at doors, rattles windows. If it gets in — then!
-
Billy buttons
Flourish — clouds of gold, above
Countless millipedes -
Powerlines bend, with
A cacophonous weight — birds,
Bringing in dusk -
The bees arrive!
A haze of vanilla petals
Theirs to harvest. -
The sun hammers
Tin roofs, fires — even heads
Dry and sick with heat. -
A dozen diamonds
Glitter bright, as the light leaves
Burnished, copper sky -
From the painted sky,
A broken butterfly falls
To
Harsh
Concrete
Jenkins Rising 