day lily

 
back on May's porch  
where the box of old theatre jewelry  
was first tipped over  
spilling tangled metallic mileage  
and we started the slow separation  
of the knotted together embellishments  
 
kept as the lunatics feet still washed  
in the chalk from off the moth's back  
common caterpillars typing out talc  
 
it's all eggshell anymore  
over an anchor  
 
and we when the grass gets wet  
respect us our dew  
rolling dawn's tragedy in  
on pastels without pain  
all springs rush forth now after August