Poet Laundry

  The last emerald summer popped hot in the pan— buttery, like sweet corn and tomatoes,   like the last sultry twilight I spent ...

-ed freshly—   pOp-hatching open like a tin, new— from speckled blue—   with a boing-bOunce, songbirds’ primitive sweet ...

  After the departure   of winter,   of cara caras—   the arrival of white blossoms, pollen, dusk moths, bats diving for sec...