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The single prop plane makes a bakery's worth of
Satisfying noise in a half hour. These orchids
Are edible. Newspapers cover the bed, and children's books
Do not always rely on a simple syntax
To elicit sharp happy feelings. Sometimes
They're tricky to parse indeed. The green is back.
Your boy is back. I'm here, awake, and considering
The years I've had that's almost enough.
Care for some meadow? Some unmown onions
The dandelions stand among have the pale
Color of peepers, mostly though they're kelly.
Who are those aeronauts, how have they
Gotten free of the delusion that we all must work jobs?
Or are they on the clock too, running smack
Or maybe just doing recon for cash. That's not
How I'm accustomed to speak. Where are the birds
That I could describe to great effect
And claim the laurels, the eagle they reintroduced
I've seen about twice. In this light
In the middle of the day I soar just sitting
On the base of the flagpole, watching the dread
Of social contact make a tentative entrance
In a boy's heart, he who until now has been fearless.