#409 - by bushel light

 

8.ii.21

409

2.39

by bushel light

 

in Bush Week, once in a blue Sunday month

(where we were all along)

 

in oyster world

for underbreath

hide my shack in a garden

(houses dreamt inside as well)

 

it’s creep for comfort under there

storm out of the shell  

 

and come upon accidents belonging 

step upon some bliss

 

can you read this?

see to cherish

throw the phrase ahead

please let me have

two kennings or four pecks 

I hide a tune in time

tree in the seed

fresh flowers under fat wings

 

I hide my garden in the bush 

it trips a creek in dry stones

my spider in plain sight

is scourge of mosquitoes

know no fear

 

keep sleep narrow chancing

it may come

and thunder some days

skin under the heart

of a hammock stretch

 

a cubit for concupiscence

(take the old measures to bed

and there’s no boasting here)

come tuck me in with teddy then

 

sausage in a sizzle

and shadows for a fire

let creatures out

 

press wilted days in a book like this

tap toes

and tickle, lying down

sledgehammer wisecrack under

 

I keep a mantelpiece of dreams

send out confusing signs

dig here!

 

hide demons in analogy

my elephant indoors

 

bravado affections keep to my breast

who’ll be my valentine?

 

the legend in a lunchtime, sweet

mice make the running off

I hide my barn on fire

 

sackcloth, ashes

live among such lessons learned

 

secret and understruck

taken with tides

 

no telling or they’ll know

 

I hide the sum in things taken apart

 

no prizes here for what I do

you’ll find me at the words