Patricia Williams

I successfully wasted another day –
evoked what is best forgotten,
exhumed cloistered skeletons,
battled without chain mail or horses,
dredged up thoughts of first-rate flowers
from last year’s garden,
failed to relish those in bloom today.

Twisted, bare-branched sentinels,
rough and umber-colored,
blossom pink and white –
lush fields decline to dry blond stubble,
corpse of autumn’s harvest –
pods hide silk parachutes
that free-fall, benefit meadow tenants.

Despite refined explanations,
fleshly boundaries, the scientifically proven –
can’t see ultraviolet light,
can’t feel minor earth vibrations.