Bumblebees Are Made of Ash
       

The day is a dragonfly hovering in the Timothy. It could rain for months
before the sun goes down. An orange buoy bobs while a sparrow
sings through a wall. The world smells of cedar, skunk spray,
a sedge's sharp edge. The cat's ears clear their throats,
prepare to speak. Kinnell called it "the inexhaustible
freshness of the sea." As if you could imitate
a preening cormorant. As if she'd said can't
learn this way, but you heard can't live,
destiny's dangling web. A horse
82 miles from its barn while
your brain swings open
like a giant pink
gate.

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Copyright © 2019 Martha Silano All rights reserved
from Gravity Assist
Saturnalia Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission