Thursday, September 10, 2015

Ode to August

Memories of mud
of being handled
by sun

Peonies peeling so
dense, opulent,
blushing

Earth unevened by
legions of night
travelers

I rule lying in wait
waiting to be
caught

Until, we ourselves
O love, are unruly
habit

_

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what we are built for

in the days when the kids were smaller and my parents younger and they lived here  six months of the year                                   ...