Thursday, June 28, 2018
the inanimate isn't. Full of sap & wind-wiggling branches. Roots a plenty. Seeking water & sun & the cooling of evening. She's a beauty, isn't she. More reliable than a guard dog, too. Let's have cold soup -- vibrantly blueberry-ish -- for lunch. We'll serve in small clear glasses with petite spoons. Let's send a poem out into the world which may or may not include the word "blueberry." There you have it.