
Things were still there
where most should be
and some should not;
A rising red lily
in its speckled forest,
open mouth singing;
Dirt, freshly hoed and raked,
the odd squirrel hole
and impatient weed;
A dandelion seed
drifted, buffeted
by thermal fingers;
Trees — Fig and orange,
abundantly giving
and eventually messy;
A roach on its back
once prayed for help,
desiccated in summer heat.
An old man reclined
in the shade,
surrounded by green,
Wondering if he were content,
tempted by beauty
and the risk of joy,
When the upturned creature
said, “Be careful,
I am a mirror.”.