The Poem Said

The poem said

mow it again

A powder of clippings floats to the surface of a cool nap in a secured sunspot

Paper bags line up

Neighbor dogs are kind & hunt balls to death

I would go there right now

folded up in the silence of a maple tree in the front yard

A tiara

if I could get one leaf right

& sleep in air

What would we do if we had no money?

Listen to those golden cutters hustling down this very same street

What would we do my true loves?

Dogs are for later

We polish the dogs