Poet Laundry

  Like dropped white petals in the Colonel’s yard, lie wing bones and feathers—   cat, coyote, or desert skunk, having taste...

  under the blacklight they glow green and grow still   sometimes they’re tucked into a nook like a lost doubloon   ready ...

  It’s more than a place, it’s a calling— where red hibiscus, and pink, too, blush the air with their kisses.   This old Spani...