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Tuesday, April 18, 2017

4.18.17 - kiki

Is this okay, boys?

April weekend with my hands in earth—
a weekend on my knees—makes me question
end because this, me, hands-in-earth 
is a weak instigation.

I don’t know names of much (I’m sorry
Brooks). I know I like to prune I think 
azaleas and other places birds do nests 
and perch. I like the curve of

lower branches, snaking to light. So I free
them of their children, thin things
already budding. All winter I am lower-
branched, sad with lightloss, full of shame 

I don’t move more. Earth is nearer  
this season. Me close and holding. Clayey
soil and clover and carpenter bees dive-
bombing as I scout a world foreign-

handed yet familiar, not for conquest, but yes
rehoming. The lilies of the valley are on some 
mad march, fierce and strangly. Allowed--
I'd find a way to move 

towards peace. The lilies and I must stop 
casting such small shade, eating ground. Once 
I am ash, I may ask to be broadcast into 
wind by dirty hands, at least six, and re-

root nowhere. 

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