it's a

it's a goal to be as a goat:

possess hooves,

ears, even without horns,

sound somewhere between

a bray and a bah

star yellow

So, I can not name them.

They need, I know, some water.

I dig my knees deep,

return them prematurely back to dust,

to pray and pick these flowers.

consider yourself surrounded

i'll opt to consider myself surrounded,

rather than lonely and amid quiet,

weil there's a whole circus of friends

pulling out a whole nonsense on stops

in the green house, which is toppling over

in not only green but purple and blue and

stars, ribbons, sticks, and soil.

every morning, this lupine surprises me with another tassle.

every morning, it greets me with a trick or two.

something's now on fire, unfolded,

waving greetings, waving dew.

mad tom

April

Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

edna st. vincent millay