Another season of hummingbirds.
The red blooms flame the noon eye.
Wasps stagger, drunk on fallen plums.
The sky unclouds its blues.
Such clarity demands black and white
and so a magpie lands on the nearest branch.
There are no dead here for him to carry over.
My Cubs shirt draws his scolding.
Sophie Germain could do the math.
How many dead can the magpie cross over at once?
A very large prime number I assure you.
I think they would prefer our muted dirt.
Vegetables and flowers will sound off soon enough.
A while back, Will’s ashes enriched our fig tree.
Carbon rich or carbon neutral?
He will be our Sunday host once the figs purple in August.
A white fright feather wafts from the blue.

copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney


Link to Sophie Germain Wikipedia entry.

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