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
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.