Cornucopia
A poem for Sunday
Morning after we meet: a parade
in the street. Brass instruments blasting
gladly. Of the dozen we crack,
ten eggs hold double yolks.
When it rains, the town floods. Your dog
and your neighbors huddle at the window.
Suddenly: our dog, our neighbors.
Our basement, puddled.
Mouse poop like cartoon jewels
glittering inside the white shoe.
Millions of seeds arrow upward into green.
Your legs entwine mine in earthworm parody.
Inside each day, I can feel the round outline
of all the time in the world.
The fruit bowl overflows. Tiny flies
multiply.
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