The Cucumbers of Praxilla
Of Sicyon
What is the best we leave behind?
Certainly love and form and ourselves.
Surely those. But it is the mornings
that are hard to relinquish, and music
and cucumbers. Rain on trees, empty
piazzas in small towns flooded with sun.
What we are busy with doesn't make us
groan ah! ah! as we will for the nights
and the cucumbers.
Jack Gilbert
* * *
Deer feeding in the field behind my house on Russ Hill Rd.
"Misguided Angel"
Roasted garlic
Light blue chambray shirt my ex gave me
The laughing Quebecois girl, washing the grass off her legs
Peregrine over Spruce Mountain
"Early Sunday Morning"
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1 comment:
The Ugandan boy's long fingers, splayed on the white tablecloth.
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