Tied to the raving weed-trimmer
Raising dust where grass had been
Almost nicking the pale hibiscus
She of the lovely legs
All her blooms forgotten
And then the long raking into piles
I think of the Hadean fires
Where zircons hatched
The first legless animals
A yardful always
Standing up and starting over
I don’t know why this makes me so happy
This idea of time we’ve come up with
As yet so unsatisfied and dopey
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