Jake's Flea Market

About twenty years ago, I sat for a few minutes one morning and jotted down a list of things that I became aware of --- sights. sounds, and smells especially. I arranged those images into a structure of sorts. In the years since, I've come back to this from time to time: And each time I've come back to it, I've deleted verses and lines; and rearranged, added, or subtracted words. I don't know if it's good poetry; or a good way of making poetry, for that matter. It isn't the kind of thing I usually write--- being the product of a strategy of writing that I don't normally employ. 


it’s may

the room swallows the morning
sunlight through patio doors
through the bay window
fills with shadows and colours

gusto wakes in her sunbeam
i wake in mine

outside
robins mate on the glass
jewelry of dew that glazes chrome
over the green golf course lawn

he leaves her vulnerable

a finch
or is it a sparrow
flutters out from among the leaves
on the vine on the trellis

leaves her nest to mercy