crossed green blades curl under
the soaped fabric of morning air:
the traced green lace
of evergreen branches hangs down.
sirens and train whistles break
the washed swath of sideways wind,
as the round bells of birdcalls
ring silver in the lemon-colored air.
(i am weary today), content to
watch the world as fractured slivers of yellow and green light:
splintered into a charcoal geometry of off-square lit windows, wire fence rungs,
and the small-mesh kaleidescope of an open screen door.
