“ A single dew drop on the watermelon sprout, a tiny spider crawls over the misshapen leaf exploring the cavity of folded foliage, drops down silk web and crawls up again. My breath moves him in the still morning. The lady two houses down smokes cigarettes and coughs harshly and the birds sing anyway: it’s summer, the mimosa tree has bloomed and the days are hot. Robin redbreast hops across the yard, dog barks in the distance, cloudy sky – little flower sprouts on the table… the night dies every morning.
The coffee’s gotten cold and I can’t find a single vision the strange sound of a passing plane, a lightning bug walking across the deck rail. The old place ringing in my ears, this place breathing in my chest and through the window you sleep. Cardinal, buzzard – the low hum of insects, power lines and cars on far away roads. The sun pulls out from a cloud and rains light so loud I wince, bathing the me yellow white and the shadows of leaves. Patagonia (giant dragonflies and the smell of rotting vegetation)”