A poem inspired by the “ex” (old)

She gathers a few tiny fractions of a second* of

of prairie’s brome grass and clover beneath a quilt, hair

goldenrod in bloom, clothes an infusion of

psychedelic colors concocted from her inner energy

and surroundings.

She broods, though, over woven hickory:

mind a tenant of loose structure

while–without–the sun clasps the aura of

this earthy woman, those few fractions of

a second almost full-filled.

 

*Here I’m using second in the coordinate sense. The space a person takes up on earth, from one point to another, would be a tiny fraction of a second.

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