Jackson Market, 2016

Somewhere between the sound of rushing
water falling from shelves of rock
and the low tone of what might be an electric schoolbell
there is peace.

From dry tumbled dirt where scattered lie shoots and twigs and leaves from other days
where small black ants might totter over clods of dusty earth
like boulders
and here and there a bottlecap or cigarette
or a green plastic ribbon or a lidded ramekin of old ketchup dot the micro-landscape
great ugly ruins of giants
rises up
among skinny neighbors of young bamboo
a great monolith
olympian to the motes that struggle in its roots
thrust into open space, claiming three dimensions, standing
where nothing else can stand
warm and brown under a still-waking spring sun
green leaved and strong, soaking in a moment
every moment
reaching up and out
i’ll sit in your shade a while


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