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Something for John Clare

Spiderwort, the begs-

to-be-said: Fat of the summer,

off at the crack of the fat

of the bat. A pair of grosbeaks

feed in a hackberry tree

so lost in it all they have

a sort of kundalini air.

Orioles prefer the goatsbeard.

We watch the slow horses trail

the way Baudelaire, a Frenchman

who followed you through,

watched the clouds: a file

of chestnuts and flashy bays plod

across a meadow, drift?

it seems like hours, head to tail

past a clutter of fallen cottonwoods,

disappear up a cool box elder draw.

Then we watch the clouds.

from UndanceableFind more by Merrill Gilfillan at the library

Copyright © 2005 Merrill Gilfillan
Used with the permission of Flood Editions.

Published in Merrill Gilfillan Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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