Time to Empty the Pool Time to Empty the Pool
The rocks set down in the garden and the red sorrel that finds its way to unfold in sunlight its candy-shaped blossom and the water that flattens the grass and floods all the bugs in its path down to the thirsty hostas and the things that fly out from that wrath on tough little wings that look brittle and the big colored towel of dyed cotton with giant faces of cartoons and the frayed nylon of fold-up chairs riveted to hollow aluminum frames and the clouds drifting against blue and the twisting shapes of shade where secretive squirrels and birds ply their gathering trade and the beds of zucchini and basil whose leaves droop in the heat and the territorial spiders and the occasional passing motors over the hot humming road and your soaked lashes and dripping head and your grass- and dirt-covered feet slipping into flip-flops and the stories we read under the lamp and the insects hitting the window pane.
Onderdunk Road Onderdunk Road
from the Iroquois Museum came the story of a sky woman who fell thru the clouds and was caught by geese who set her down on a turtle’s back. Thus, people came on Bear Road there were no bears on Schoolhouse Road only a swamp on the state highway freight trucks roared past us for half a mile and on Red Barn Road somebody had recently painted a barn red and there the mud-covered cows charged toward us and waited for a word at the hot-wired fence we told them we meant Helios no offense weeping willow trees were always close to houses while lichen-covered, crag-wrinkled trees had faces to be seen, recognized on them all these barns with roofs sagging like wet paper tear themselves down by decay unstitched nails pop from buckled walls under which the white ash and maple sprout when we came down from the hill where fog enshrouded us rushing water in culverts was loud but invisible