Went flower picking on the mount
sun-drenched in the early afternoon,
curved absences of light wriggled
cross the rough tar back of the road
I paused briefly to examine the
flutterings of a butterfly, brilliant
orange, drunken flight
moved locations out to grab
a large coffee from the service
station pre-paid to avoid
lackacash awkwardness
sidled unnanounced down the side
of the Bard’s Palace, cliffy incline
mouthed on a honeysuckle
and sung sweet thing working
on beauty and enunciation
articulation and perfect
respresentation of the
movement of the piece
I beckoned to a dragonfly,
who came and alighted
himself on my hand, his
irridescent body still and
gleaming in the sunlight,
striated form divided easily
into four, five, six sections
of the tail and irregular
fishnet wings, I spoke
sweetly to him and
bade him farewell,
he landed not far away from
my body on a leafy branch,
Came home cooked
curried onions and
potatoes and sought
paid work on the
quantum typewriter
into the evening.


4 thoughts on “Brushwork

    1. Thank you 🙂 I am Mary Oliver fan as well. If anyone asks for poetry I always, without fail, have to advise them to read anything by Mary Oliver. She is one of my, if not the, favorites. Her poems are deeply natural and draw from Whitman, Emerson and more. Her prose is amazing and beautiful and just…wow. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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