In a Moment of Hyperbole


the tangle of grass  & weeds

outside    our window is a    “jungle” –   but semi-arid desert


isn’t capable    of being tropical  , ,      it’s too sweetened

by the scent    of    sage    after  rare    rain


&   the dense    network of    sunflowers,   their phototropic

leaves,   hairy  stems,   &   pleated petals    ,


symphony    in    audience to

the mountain.    Each crown of slender


yellow rays is a vintage gramophone

with seedy micro-


phone at center,   announcing the flight   call of

dabbling blue-winged teal  as  they migrate


south ,,   &  the saucer

sounds   of  mule  deer  faun    as they let go


their   spots   into   the field  of

Faraday lines.  Here  in the   garden  of  song,

a monarch   butterfly makes   love   _\\//_

to one of those bulbous disc flower

mounds,  its wings  pressing over    the tensed

thorax,   pressing   &  releasing,


the way a deer’s ear   twitches, but  slowly

in an adagio of concentrated  pleasure, ,,    o-p-e-n-i-n-g


&  c-l-o-s-i-n-g


&   o-p-e-n-i-n-g                    

                               the valve.