Thursday, April 24, 2014

the hermit to himself

leave the rake out in the garden
you'll be there tomorrow

speak only with your father
or else let the house its silence

rest in the myrtle by the dogwood
while the birds are quiet

in the first heat of the year,
the sun will let you

forget love for a while

sit with your cloud-eyed mangy cat
she's a better hermit than you'll ever be

walk to the swamp and stop by the pine to
collect rodent teeth from its resident owl

go lightly into the evening
with a head full of flowers

to give to your oldest friend;
old beckoner, sleep.