Revision: a Yesterlife
The trees arrest cool air, and bright vermillion.
Light rebounds around an old log
swimming under a bridge.
The edge of a sky seized clouds.
Mother sashayed with her children;
the grass was amused.
A tackle-box posed on a porch waits
for my fishing buddy to fill our driveway
with a Buick.
Mother pinned clothes to a wire.
Shirts flourished in the wind, her
dress wasn't new but well worn.
It tasted cake flour as it waited on evening.
Night was a book of dreams mother read.
I sank into a wrinkled pile beneath a framed moon
yes, even then there was a moon, and stars.
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