for Jack Turner
1. Our minds buzz like bees
but not the bees’ minds.
It’s just wings not heart
they say, moving to another flower.
2. The well pit is beneath where the pumpshed burned
years ago with a living roar, a fire lion. Down
in the pit, charred timbers, green grass, one burdock,
a vernal pool where frogs live trapped in a universe.
3. I’ve wasted too much moonlight.
Breast beating. I’ll waste no more moonlight,
the moon bullied by clouds drifts west
in her imponderable arc, snared for a half
hour among the wet leaves in the birdbath.
8. One part of the brain attacks another,
seven parts attack nine parts,
then the war begins to subside
from lack of ammunition,
but out there I know the mules are bringing
fresh supplies from over the mountain.
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