#14

the nights are long and rich

with rushes rising and subsiding

feeding the tabula rasa as it fades

again into nothing, open to sound 

or heat or line to mark the time

daytime's shadows give pause

to a raucous rush of noise lacking

meaning, order for order's sake

while the natural world, collective mother

falters in the shade and dry, under highway signs

and clouds of gathering chemical blowoff

and at the still point after wake, before sleep

the old woman hums, the busy mother

sings a soft song that swirls down the drain

the boys sighs, the bulk of man groans

diving again into the way out and in