Beyond the garage
gray air moves
smoke, soot, something
from the fire,
my heart vibrates,
I trace one questionâ€”
“Who started it?”
Cracked glass of a small kitchen
where the wimpy dogs run yipping
over green linoleum shows suddenly
through the window the cat that
sits on the bench in the gardenâ€”
those dam dogs jumping at the back door,
whole gammas of teeth and saliva;
the cat laughs.
A half-field with in-between openings, gates to pass through,
bird feeders peaked in excrement, gravel walks,
grass the texture of a cow fieldâ€”that black walnut sap
coming down on your neck, then hornets.
Accept a place of your own inserted gauntlets,
then sing to a home with a roof that doesn’t leak.
Lake with its source in fog, blue, gray,
reflects dock-light linings and silver-backed leaves.
Seen from a wooden deck high in the trees
a fast thunderstorm coming darkens the sky.
Home here, back yard looks over obscure water.