What wren? What finch? what dove?
All the deer are stoned on lily blossoms
And the snakes take to the pools
At Opus 40,
Black sticks on the day-glo green.
Heat drives gnats to the shadows and
The pines slowly
ooze their
ant trapping
sap.
Little blonde heads break the turquoise plane.
The circus balls slowly perambulate the edge.
Ice tinkles; mothers laugh,
Daddydaddy floats regal
among splashing grandchildren,
noodles at head and foot.
The mountains lean in to see.
Seven
Not three
Days of peace and love.
for the Armstrongs
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