my thoughts tumble across the prairie
like restless weeds, like bored, unruly children;
the newsman says the tornadoes
are gone, and this fierce wind
is what they left behind.
I carried too much with me
coming west--now I know
that part of moving on
is casting off--
and even though I just let go
the well-worn sofa--
the old camelback still wearing
its lovely cat-fur coat--
I plan on Sunday afternoons
lounging in the Reading Room--
the heart of Meerkerk Garden--
to cozy up in my old, grey raft--
hoping to discover some new
azalea, rhododendron, camellia,
some new species of songbird,
some new genus of light.
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