I’ve mowed the grass again,
making the cardinal’s life
an easier settlement.
Worms groove the ground
in soft silence,
oblivious to the inevitable.
The astilbe readies itself
for a wet night.
Overhead, motors grind
through orange clouds. A rabbit
practices her own
hard philosophy,
reads the fence line
as prologue to sky.
Crickets deep the bladed green
in a clot of honeysuckle air.
We’re all shadows here.
My love for you is dark.
52|250 A Year of Flash 
Great poem, Sam. So much “busy at work” with all the little critters doing their thing. I used to work in a cemetery and I caught a glimpse that the poem is occurring in that all too inevitable place. I could be wrong, and it wouldn’t matter, the poem still “works”
Lovely. Especially liked the line about the fence being read as prologue to the sky.
I can’t say how very much I enjoy this poem, Sam. There’s so much here to savor. Love the way you make it all come alive with such assured and original language.
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