“... to explore the vacant, vast surrounding ...” — Whitman
1. Whitman’s patient spider would recognize the abandoned shards of crosshatch in a shady corner of this dock, the sky so cloudless, calm. Birdsong, breezes, frog-splash, and for a moment I do not exist though my atoms whistle a tune to the lovebird (lone bird) illusion of flesh. Cock-a-doodle-doo in the distance: Brother Rooster! adding his notes to the riffs. 2. What is the scent of vanishing into? Is it like the brackish smell of the pond that holds its flotilla of pink lilies aloft? The twig at my feet, dried and broken, has a needle-eye where a bud should be, where the sharp instinct for being tried to insist.
for Susan Flynn and the Georgetown Poets
Susan Kelly-DeWitt | Botanical Garden Contents | Mudlark No. 46 (2012)