of a poplar, the wind
purring
indiscriminate through its
summer carapace
of leaves,
thought I could see, in broad daylight—Orion?
and The Big Dipper?
faithfully
sketched in the furtive
freckles of a tiger
lily.
The blossom, common among its
sisters, was a pure grimace
of confession—
unblinking, staring straight and
conscientiously skyward,
it delivered,
maternally—yet very matter-of-factly
it delivered,
maternally—yet very matter-of-factly
(like an old, matronly
administrator would):
well, how did you think all these
administrator would):
well, how did you think all these
different things around here
discovered
the one place where they all fit together?
discovered
the one place where they all fit together?
Whether we choose to admit it
or not makes no difference;
the fact is we're always,
always, always, always—
living in a neighborhood.