Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Monday, June 14, 2021

Sonnet #331

In spring the rising pomegranate shoots

All must be cut but six, so pick the best

And take the cleanest loppers to the rest

These six survive, long whips of buds to fruit

And all the rest , over the fence for bugs to roost

The rotting wood is where the fireflies live

And in the summer flowers fade but nightfall thrives

When all the rot wood residents soar like ghosts

The birds and lizards that devour glow some, too

And I enjoy the songs they sing, anoles flash

Of red among the green, and let them through

When cats come lurking in the shadows, crash

The morning twilight with their howls and hoots

That wake me, in this underworld underfoot

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