<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/strong><\/p>\n

Soul Mates
\n<\/strong>
\nWhen the first mosquito bites the day,
\nthere is room here next to me.\u00a0 Lend a pole
\nI\u2019ll fish with you and watch the lines
\nyou\u2019re looking for.\u00a0 While we wait for fish to hit,
\nwe\u2019ll share the tales that grow in length and breadth
\nlike loaves and fishes, mounds of olives stuffed with rinds.
\nWhere the fish you say are feeding, the brook bends
\na backwater bar.\u00a0 A dillied hook tugs against
\nthe sluggish current two feet above a bottom
\nbouncing rig.\u00a0 When a jumper strikes
\na damselfly, ripples spread and catch the sun.
\nWe learn their genus: sunfish, cichlid, perch,
\nand their names:\u00a0 white, yellow, black
\nor striped, or speckled peacock bass.
\nYou draw the line with turquoise toes.
\nThey\u2019re cold and wet, they rake my sole.
\nNo need to size this fish against the others.
\nIf threaded flies are sporting, at least we feed
\nthe fish who take our barb, whose lip we pierce.
\nOur creel empty or maybe not.\u00a0 We keep
\na deep throat ripped, gills torn, to clean
\nand fry in butter in a skillet over open fire.
\nImmerse your hands.\u00a0 Back out or snip the hook.
\nSubmerge his creamy cold-blooded belly
\nbelow the shady bank and point him upstream,
\nuntil strength and breath regained, he swims away,
\nmaybe wiser.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Oak Yoga
\n<\/strong>
\nA cleaver through warm butter twice its length,
\na new chain foams an oak.\u00a0 A buried acorn,
\nonce stowed away, immobile still.\u00a0 You cough
\nsawdust, shaved curls and chips.\u00a0 Your shoulders use
\nthe gentle slope against the impaled\u00a0 trunk.
\nGive before your joints unravel, before
\nyour boots melt the snow encrusted grass.
\nSet wedges in the cracks.\u00a0 One hand slides up
\nthen down the ashen handle.\u00a0 The wood fights
\nand grabs a life already lost.\u00a0 The pitch
\nsweetens with each swing.\u00a0 Then pops: a ping
\npong ball smashes basement walls.
\nRaspberry brambles bleed your arm and you
\navoid the white oak\u2019s lash.\u00a0 I count almost
\nseventy rings.\u00a0 Oaks topple from the weight
\nof wind or early snow on wide green hands.
\nA tree uproots and missed the house.\u00a0 A tree
\nexposed stands posed to face the next.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Acorn Yoga
\n<\/strong>
\nThe squirrels share my mat.\u00a0 We move acorns from
\ntheir fallen place to where fresh shoots feed deer.\u00a0 We save
\nthe lawn from oaks.\u00a0 The work is daily, done in parts.
\nPlant soles.\u00a0 Spread weight on ball and heel.\u00a0 Feel the ground
\npush up your calves and thighs through clouds whiting blue
\nabove.\u00a0 The acorns, countably infinite, wait.
\nYou turn and lunge, smell bruised rye, stretch and pick. Pivot
\nback foot, extend arms\u2014warrior two.\u00a0 Weight forward flow
\nto warrior three.\u00a0 Reach high.\u00a0 Align hip\u2014open heart.
\nPlanes spark on traffic hold.\u00a0 You lower trailing leg
\nbend stretch and pick, release neck, crown to zested fescue.
\nBreathe between vertebrae.\u00a0 With fingernails,
\npry acorns loose and smell the gumbo.\u00a0 Squirrels chirp
\nand clap their nuts.\u00a0 A siren flees the valley.\u00a0 Trucks
\nare calmed by miles of trees.\u00a0 And jays\u2014always jays.
\nA woman works the mat beside you.\u00a0 Hear her breath.
\nHer warmth radiates.\u00a0 Your hands graze when you wrap
\nthe other knee on top and turn her way.\u00a0 Allow
\nyour eyes to linger.\u00a0 Spandex and cotton don\u2019t hide
\nher body.\u00a0 Nape to breasts move with her heart and lungs,
\nperfumed and pink. It takes all season.\u00a0 Rake the leaves.
\nSome acorns root.\u00a0 They will mature in thirty years,
\nthen fill.\u00a0 The taproot fetal, snug by shale.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Soul Mates When the first mosquito bites the day, there is room here next to me.\u00a0 Lend a pole I\u2019ll fish with you and watch the lines you\u2019re looking for.\u00a0 While we wait for fish to hit, we\u2019ll share the tales that grow in length and breadth like loaves and fishes, mounds of olives stuffed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3043","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3043","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3043"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3043\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3067,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3043\/revisions\/3067"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3043"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3043"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3043"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}