Rural Spring Poem
A thrasher in the linden cobbles an aubade from thrushes, jays, doorslams, donkeycall, thunderclap. The azaleas hold fistfuls of bee-sodden paper. Out here, gunshots sound whimsical, or bored. The new colt, still creased and kinked as an unfolded shirt, has four comically outsized knees, shotputs weighting him to the earth, a cool dream above which […]