the annunciation and after
in this swiss universe so full of holes
landscapes are fleeting and inconsistent
back up from the garage all showered and pretty
and the city beyond the driveway is gone
only the municipal park is still holding
nothing doing so you loosen your tie
and proceed chasing the butterflies

while you are at it let us talk of the city
tousled nest of cast iron and much clamor
teeming hatchery and mother to many
once with a name as if an animate being
shimmering no more in its extinguished rage
it has bled away through swiss ins and outs
leaving the virgin space idle
what city is there to talk about

in the woods where you are abandoned to roam
the little ones with no urgent agenda
chipmunks june bugs worms and such small deer
municipal no more now in public domain
deliver their odd formless gifts
a ball of fur perhaps a bit of dirt a straw
they know within their little minds that somewhere
a butterfly like a ghostly apparition
is bursting out that will die on the third day
and redeem the rest of the vermin

*Аккаунт

egononsum

, где я обычно вешаю стихи по-английски, остался без пароля, поскольку нового мне не шлют, хотя уже три раза соврали, что выслали. Дальнейшую судьбу этого проекта сообщу, если она будет.