I’m settling in to work, and here’s a quick hello, from this Saturday morning, over coffee and a mammoth to-do list that shall ever-swiftly dwindle.
that rickety sign of green—
covered by ever-grown ferns
curled and tangled raw
like the red-furnace hair
of the widow ‘cross the street.
she’d grown beneath sunsets,
orange and pale luminescence,
then drove investors hard
until she’d confirmed stocks ideal;
showed herself cunning, she, in
energy given by the sun’s light,
blanketed over the earth.