after
the evening's thunderstorm—lightning
bugs
57
mid-
night—the moon slips through the spider's
web
58: July 19th 2021 | bottlecap
Lutetia Sue Plover Born 1862 - Died 1923 Whoever you may be, grieve not Because my stone is small Or seems thus but an afterthought. What need have I for more than this? I loved the world withal And yield rather with a kiss. Though we are passers-by today (Bless you who’ve come to call) Be in no hurry. If I may, Don’t think of me as being gone Say rather: ‘Twas time that I move on.
cries
the cicada: autumn, autumn, autumn
soon
56: July 15th 2021 | bottlecap
both
the crow and girl—neither taking
wing
54: July 8th
down-
pour—mountains rise as the clouds
fall
55: July 12th 2021 | bottlecap
over
the new-mown field—the moon's
scythe
53: July 6th 2021 | bottlecap
pitied
by the three-leggèd dog for only having
two
52: July 1st 2021 | bottlecap
between
earth and sky—the evening's cooling
grasses
50
outside
the hospital—ants carry off the dead
moth
51: June 24th & 28th 2021 | bottlecap
after
the storm—waters under a motionless
sky
48
solstice—
the summer's moon rises over heat
lightning
49: June 21st 2021 | bottlecap
When just a girl her mother said
You have a hundred acre heart.
Someday, I know, you’ll meet a boy
And you and he will never part.
He’ll love your heart’s untrammeled wilds,
The seasons of your vagrant sky;
He’ll build a house for both of you
And sow your rapturous fields with rye.
But let some paths go undiscovered
And heed your woodland pools; the moon
Will visit unregarded where
The bones—the feasts of wolves—are strewn.
Hide from him the baleful owl
And if he hears the midnight’s howl,
There’s savagery in what you are—
Never let him go too far.
still
tumbling downhill—the brook's dry
stones
46
limb
by limb the old tree forgets what it used
to be
47: June 14th 2021 | bottlecap
