7 a.m.

7 a.m., morning is waking,
Queen Anne’s Lace is strong.
Beneath this tilting marrow
I hear crickets and katydids
Playing their ode to carrots
For the passing geese-
Gonking, I imagine,
In perfect v formation.
I’ve sit long enough to watch
Whites disperse into greens
While I listen to a passing plane
And, a robin who hushes its drones.

7 a.m. was written for a Poetry Postcard project in August.

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