I’ll be posting about our day yesterday—probably in the mid-afternoon. Meanwhile, another ghazal, this one written yesterday morning.
Ghazal 4/25
a 1940s car chassis planted amongst trilliums & ferns &
jack-in-the-pulpit the deep green & the grape vines gone native
as helixes climbing the maples—a creamy orange light
swathed to the east & the prehistoric hills & mountains
insubstantial & blue gray as storm clouds falling into the horizon
there was a refrigerator without a door a white bulk amongst
underbrush—white & the tiny flowers of rust blossoming
‘round the hinges—a club house with 1 window & 1 bench en-
wrapping another maple & later swept away amidst logs & green
rowboats & brown trout in the flood the sky is white in the
pond right now the water glass the poplars along the creek reflected
vibrantly green the cows lowing & grazing the sparrows
& blackbirds busy in the willow’s supplely
gesticulating branches the fractious swell of the Saxtons River thru
a 1960s Vermont woodland we no longer have access
to—the static pond to the east out of reach & white this white morning