poem: Perfections
"where the shore rock forms long cold plates and the furrowed clouds hang low and heavy over the water."
Perfections
The bikes are fastened to the back of your blue Honda Civic. I stand beside it at the Pioneer station and pump $40 of gas. We don’t make the ferry and wait for it to come back, windows down, cool wind off the water. When we disembark, our car clangs on the metal lip, the curling dark smell of a wood fire close by. The county roads form right angles and along the broken land we see dandelions and tulips, forsythia and chokecherry. Drowsy magnolia trees blaze with pastel petals, full lips, soft and falling open. We ride our bikes on bumpy trails, beside the bleached bones of fallen trees, stop by the water where the shore rock forms long cold plates and the furrowed clouds hang low and heavy over the water. Here, we are uncovering momentary perfections made of bending leafless boughs and small and sleepy joys.
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