two poem Sunday

IMG_0664.JPG[You know. Fungus. On a tree. Looking like drab butterfly wings. In the arb. April 9 2017]

April 9 2017
Late night yesterday, so two poems today. More and more I can’t even go through/think through the litany of political events. I’m trying really hard not to turn away fully, just to take a slight break and anchor myself in the people, practices, and ideas that matter to me.

A Chorus of Frogs

Early spring swamps sing
a frogs’ chorus;
on the path I see no sign
of them. Their calls
echo like the claims of a siren.

sometimes the body falls apart
in such quiet ways: a minor muscle
strain or a slight pain
behind the eye
socket.

sometimes the body explodes and de-
composes in an instant: the cracked
bone or the skin torn
apart by a
knife.

and sometimes the body has its own
design to fail you: murmurs of heart
or mind that you never minded never heard
until the moment when
you fall
apart.

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