For Quickly’s Titular



I’ll Be Out in the Garden, Feeding the Unicorns

When there’s a fine day in Tennessee
in late July, a day with high clouds
and a sky so blue it rubs off on your fingers
when you stretch your arms to fly,

a day of brassy hummingbirds
and the hay smell of yesterday’s grass,
rabbits at dawn eating clover
when you wake without a yawn

singing seamless snatches that fit
like puzzle pieces, hand in hand,
and orange juice splashed over ice
tastes grand with a sprig of mint

you pick from a pot by the doorstep;
when lunch is a ripe tomato, sun-
warm, between slices of soft, soft
white bread, and you fall into dreaming,

porch swing rocked by a breeze, wake
to a shower like silver wind chimes—
a chorus, two verses, a chorus, and gone—
with even the sun refreshed;

when the kudzu smells like sweet peas
and you’re torn between loving it
and singing about July in Tennessee,
call: You’ll know where to find me.



Always good to hear from friends

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