20-03-04
He tugs
Oblivious to the poignancy
A branch
The wind has felled
Can’t keep up
The tissue slips
And blows away
The smells are urgent
The chime wind-rings
Haphazardly
The phone guesses
What I’m trying to say
Sometimes right
Sometimes correctly
Though not a companion
Perhaps a notebook
More than a journal
If there is such a thing
Such a measure
That type
There’s something urgent under the house
Not really a house
But a structure
Raised
Slightly
Enough for adventure
A curiosity
A sprint
To the meadow tree
Some rules protect
In some places
It’s helpful, I suppose
This exertion
On point
They say, to the good
Can’t go wrong
A pause
Redirection
Consideration
A new horizon
of season revealed