the grass grows tallest
near the edge of the thicket

and offers a caesura
from summer’s pulsation

to the meek and ferocious, alike.
A haven for the seemingly disparate

field mice and feral cats,
hiding in the whiskey grass;

neither thinking to sound or move,
until darkness arrives, and

they resume their convictions
of living in the dimmet.

2 thoughts on “caesura

  1. michellejoycebond

    This is beautiful. Here is my poor attempt at a poetic response:

    Yes, the heat of the day is much too hazy,
    And the animals much too lazy,
    To fight their foes,
    With more than their toes,
    In the shadows of poplars and daisies.


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