Better attuned to architecture, lacking
experience of mountains rearranging
themselves to pattern, where domestic
space falls into geographical logic—a lightened,
And even then it’s raining and the turquoise
Ford Taurus across the street is killing me
with its practicality. O, my testimony;
your dull black shoes and my patio tomatoes
we keep watering despite poor yield. The minnows
in the koi pond cut left, flicker at the sun.
Even so, I can walk all between the trees;
little undergrowth troubles the leaf litter,
and the deer paths draw scars.