At Sixes and Sevens
Impoverished, with no path
in my future, I left home
when the tall grass greened
and the soil caved to my weight,
a spring wind barked,
increasing my misdirection,
creek the color of old pewter,
mud cold and slick.
But the wind parted
the grasses of the field the way
clouds can leave one swatch
in shadows and the golden.
I stepped into the divide,
came out the other side,
have since kept right on walking.
Jeff Burt lives in Santa Cruz County, California. He has two chapbooks and a book due out this fall from Sheila-Na-Gig. More can be found at www.jeff-burt.com
Impoverished, with no path
in my future, I left home
when the tall grass greened
and the soil caved to my weight,
a spring wind barked,
increasing my misdirection,
creek the color of old pewter,
mud cold and slick.
But the wind parted
the grasses of the field the way
clouds can leave one swatch
in shadows and the golden.
I stepped into the divide,
came out the other side,
have since kept right on walking.
Jeff Burt lives in Santa Cruz County, California. He has two chapbooks and a book due out this fall from Sheila-Na-Gig. More can be found at www.jeff-burt.com
