Like a landscape that changes only in
Plantings there is permanence, favorite
Corners, where shelter, sound, and smell collide.
Colors are textures of flying things landing
Then alighting in flight. Yearly, fresh lite
Mulch, small renewals, death then replanting,
New growth. Inevitable attacks of
Invading army ants menace and men
Threaten my guests. Biting flies and blood-suck
Invaders bent on bending Truth demolish
Trust with gray heat waves of deprivation.
Armed with hose and spray I regain lost ground,
The upper hand. I’m not going anywhere.
I do not change house every ten years.
Gary Edward Geraci
No comments:
Post a Comment