Friday, April 7, 2017

Mastering 50 Acres: a poem



The sunshine defines the cedar bough,
backed by forest shadow;
so like my mind,
emptying on the back edge of caffeine,
inviting everything in and serving
decaf in mismatched china cups.

Green grass stands out against the winter brown,
an indifferent love affair,
feeding the baby-swell of the cottontail rabbit.

How best to master this fifty acres of swamp?
Mostly by leaving
it
alone.

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