The
impeccable range lies, immutable
No
sun spilling over mountaintops,
noisily
breaking it's
wild
light across
recalcitrant
meadows
lying
far below
There
will be no quick drying of the
slick
August dew, lacing those
soaked,
sparkling pole beans, impelling vines
stretching
hungrily toward the skies
Below
the damp cloud cover
whispering
Spilanthes extend rootlets
into
any deep thick earth, its
obdurate
soft stemlets
grab
grab grabbing with
long
white fingers that
dig
and then thirstily feed
Here
before the melodic weighted roses
the
fog lathers each thrumming petal
coating
the raucous Japanese Beetles , while
all
the bees, wisened, hitch beneath
fragrant
Hyssop leaf
succulent
Phlox blossoms
waiting,
dry, for the sun
The
Lilies are all sleeping in, their
lucid
dreams pulled by the
rhythmic
refrain of some
primordial
song
listen;
can you hear it? They are
all
tucked into the gallant river’s bed
Striking
fragrant Tansy stands tall, overseeing
quiet
fogged waters, the myriad of elfin
spider webs carefully, patiently
threaded
through grasses
intricate
structures,
the spiders hide stock-still,
awaiting the vibration
that signals a meal
The
vibrant blue swallows sweep the land while enormous
old fish leap, splash, and disappear,
a fat
dragon fly between their lips?
Concentric
circles veering cross the Connecticut telling
this tale a
gain
and again and again
Soft
grasses parted where a
deer
or coyote
in
their secret lives
did
venture down to the river early morn
The
Mugwort grown taller every day, and yes
Queen
Anne’s Lace, their own universe of insects
busily
cleaning and feeding and laying
thriving
in the early damp dawn
One
Catbird admonishes, hopping about their nest
Two
humans silently make their way past on
Mountain
Bikes, strange headed-creatures,
quiet
as falling seed puffs
off
into the fog beyond
As
the ancient river continues its coursing nonetheless, its
design
and current something inimitable, mighty
trailing behind its fidelitous heart
Pressing
past plentiful dams and basins
muttering
among cantankerous tributaries
sundering
Oxbows, with a sigh, as it’s
pulled
by the wrists
down
to the mouth
the
greeting Estuary rushing back and forth in
foamed
delight of waters, the
rippling heart of certainty
the
low-lying cloud cover
is left behind,
voiceless, a
quiet morning refrain
a song
of the land, the
one
of necessary
devotion
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