Autumn House Press

Pastoral

Let the roadside go to chicory
and gall–
of-the-earth, and the hillside go
to clover
and everlasting
pea, and the road itself
to the barred belly of the blacksnake
and the tarot belly
of the tortoise,
while burdock and poke
choke the corn
out of the fields,
and morning glories run wild
over the immaculate gardens–
let thistle grow tall
and defiantly purple.
And let there be no noise,
just the pileated woodpecker
screeching
like a wild monkey,
heat,
and the wind stumbling through a long row of pines,
the unabashed turning
of leaves
asking
the wind’s blessings, blessings, blessings.