(http://www.personal.psu.edu/users/h/c/hcb113)
Back from Ohio, my angel, my only, and noticing several things. First, Ohio has daffodils and magnolia trees (which I always confuse with dogwoods) and dream houses.
The frogs are out on the pond. They plopped in when he passed and we stood on the plank wood dock, which seemed hollow and uncertain, listening.
Also here at home, white trees are out in white fluffy bunches. Skirts are out. Motorcyclists are out. Tourists are stumbling out of silver buses, and stretching, and eating at buffets. Men are leaning out of windows and shouting things at girls like me like Thank God for summer! Because summer allows men to be brave.
Swink is out with three of my poems.
Phoebe is out with two, but I only saw it briefly on a coffee table in a bar between me and my first love, and I gave it to him. So.
Vision in my right eye is out, due to allergies or contacts or papers or an inability to see the future.
My left eye, liar, lost in the past, continues to cut a clear, though distant, swath.