Still, It Appears

IMG_2854Gnats swarm in a floating ball

that brightens like a planet
in the rising sun. Busy, busy,

it appears. Busy like the bus
I once rode, used to dread.
It comes still, raising dust

in the late summer morning.
The dark silhouettes of kids
inside are still, waiting.

Becoming. The moles have
been up all night sowing
fresh lumps of turned earth.

Busy, busy, busy, it appears,
and autumn coming on.
The marigolds I planted

in the spring mud bloom.
Busy, busy till seed time,
it appears. And a chirping bird—

only a glimpse of crimson;
and a dew-wet spider web
waving in the morning’s breeze—

busy, busy, it appears, bustling
in the late summer . . . all
this, my home once. Years ago,

too many to count. Busy still,
it appears, as I wait, a silhouette,
still, waiting, it would appear.

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