afternoon poem, June 4, 2016

After the rain the air stopped moving
Tree branches were still as photographs of themselves
The sky was close and white
And birds called to one another
But hid from sight.

Who would prune hedges
While they still hold the rain
Stop, and stand still
As if this hour demanded it.
Don’t move until the wind returns.

Though the solstice nears
Evening will come early
On this wet day
Remember yesterday
When the sun shone
And you worked till the sweat
Glistened on your shoulders
And then slept the deep sleep of the innocent
What is there to show for it now?

Copyright 2016

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