Matin:  Dry Creek
.
after l.g.
.
Let dawn break upon the fields– let new grass
spread itself readily:
Let underground water
infuse the earth.
Permit the grey, high-hipped mares
to sate themselves
So that their dream-weary
aging ends.
.
Let the rotting, leaning posts last
one more year, even though there will be a forfeiture
of the symmetry of fence and sky.
Let there be foxes, and food for them.
.
Let all things endure
until we do not.  Let everything thrive
the purple crowns of alfalfa, the cattails in the creek
all in its season within us, life unto life,
.
Quickened, certain, luminous.  Rise in us
until everything flares and feeds us
so that we are again full and whole,
impassioned and yielding.
.

Ovum Egg Oeuvre

after d.p.

.

The ovum

in its membrane

its opaque casing

.

Traveling in secret

forming, hardening

.

To the porcelain bone-house

of an objet d’arte within

which the sun-gold

nucleus vibrates

.

The heart of the egg

with the bloodspot

becoming other

beneath a warming, feathered

weight:  its mother

.

Growing tendrils– thin legs,

the nubs of wings, a beak, an eye–

Breaking forth weak, wet, calling–

Replica and oeuvre.

#

Break of Day

.

The world flared up this morning

When I drove into the sun, blinded

Taking the dogs to the river

dog joy broke forth

.

Yes, my gilded dog plunged into surging water

To find her ball, and dashed around me

In gratitude:

.

This was my measure

of completion on this day:

Night and frost broken

By sunrise

.

At the store, marked down fresh

oysters

in pearl bright froth, replete

With the tang of the sea.

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