horn of plenty

(new year’s occasional, 2010)

hush, she says; some days words aren’t needed.
enormity can wait: rhinoceri, rennet and rime

please, my mind, no questions today; just let me relax.
only the sky is gray: what’s pithy
is what’s placid.

upstairs, the woman with three hundred-something hands
knits caps she fills with clever things –
forceps, and foxes, for example;
sets clocks.

she does this daily; alas, the questions cumulate,
insist on light and air and asking, and children
in thinking caps full of surprises.
oh, please.

* * *

C. familiaris, legit.

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