sixteen lines against the air
Turtles in the Sun, 2 April 2020
Walking out in the bold noonday light
after these million years of cold and sullen darkness,
after nightmares, this world -- the thing itself --
appears dreamlike, no -- dreamed up,
imagined as an answer to the infecting air
and every neighbor's murderous breath.
Twenty-seven unisolated turtles in the sun
basking on two logs not more than a yard apart,
the little ones still bobbing towards home base.
Oblivious geese strafing the whole damn pond
searching for sex no doubt
as they should this glorious God-blessed April day.
This is no conclusion,
except to say,
to you I love what ways I can --
this is no conclusion.
*I wrote this with a quill
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