the depth of the tulip poplar

is golden

the surface is green

yesterday a hummingbird sat on a limb

apostrophe

seventeen years

to the day

in great stillness

for a long moment

in the morning

reminding

of joy’s arrival

for francesca

….

even that circle

which is gone

its layering replaced

two estuaries

parabolas

open towards blue continent sea

at this moment covered by

leaves

green

i don’t know why the shape of the sky surprises

again there as it was yesterday

at its edges some of the leaves with their whisperings

others continent green content in not speaking .  .  .

so

.

.

.

in

dia

to

day

is

pale

pool

in one wood, in woods

in what might be considered uncultivated country

while waiting

the while that

a tufted titmouse

and another small bird

wake, lie in wait for, observe carefully, be watchful

in a bush many called scrub

at the edge of the bell of the continent — inverted

blue and clear

the bell of the continent – inverted

is blue and clear

the hackberry tree stands on its one scabious leg

forks into Y out-putting new leaves

that will drip and be disparaged of – hack-

berry, new again and standing, welcoming

home at edge     perimeter        parcel         lot

on either side of the continent capacity

two ears           its western coast   earthquake

drought        tent

the birds separate from their trees

the sky has made me circumpsect

the trumpet vine in back of my head sanguine

the line across my forehead extensive