pile of brush on the sidewalk
i fill up my tank
with three sixty nine gas

power was out yesterday
while we were gone

man with a leaf blower
on the cool morning parkinglot
new edition of Diva

your tea riding tilted
darkens the back of the clear lid

what have we made of the day
that was given us
so long ago

the ground spongy from rain
no sidewalk next to the thoroughfare


   lines from Royston's Lycophron:

Wherefore all joyless shalt thou strike the lyre,
Trilling vain chords and bootless melodies,
And pour the fruitless tear, when thou shalt mark
Thy native towers, which erst the son of Jove
Mantled in ruddy flame, and in thine arms
Embrace the fleeting shade of her who hears
Pleuronian Mænad, for whose beauteous form
Five times the bridal torch shall shed around
Its saffron light of love; for so the Fates,
Ancient of days, dread daughters of the main,
Have stamp'd their web, and ratified her doom.


Poem.