Out here, wild rhubarb grows free,
Bitter beauty escapes designs by premiers
Red-veined leaves untouched by the
Of this desert.
Morality endures despite the sins
Mere miles away.
Asleep at last, my small pond releases
Crawlers, bent on surveying the usual
Where spirits descend to warn of
Bad tidings, if wandering too far from this
In the moonlight, a pothole party regales
The gathered, with song and dance
From the faithful.
Wind spirits, twirling nearby,
Brush feathers, leaves and
Green Darners dart about, flashing
Spark the dark night.
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