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Undisputed Master of the Yard

A poet pretends to speak for the season:

A boudoir blooming everywhere,

the lovely patina cracked.

And the landscape does not transcend

a boy with muddy socks yanking small leaves,

ripping an insect. He tucks it in his pocket

and whispers in the face of all life,

the question-mark seedlings.



Darren Browm