Yard Work, Easter Sunday

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YARD WORK, EASTER SUNDAY


Left long to chase its natural bent,

the place had nearly gotten out of hand. 

Clover, weeds, and wild hyacinth 


said boundaries were projections of the mind,

and lines as strong as wrong and right

became, like that which shrouded


them, ambiguous, and fodder for debate.

The night was long, but birds now dripped

their lime juice in the open wound


of day. The ground, stung back to life

from Friday's freeze, rejoiced!—now

he’d rouse and set it all to rights.  


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