Tickling my calves as I step along the side of the road, purple-tinged panicle with a point like a witch’s broom, not quite ready
The grass has added tent to its vocabulary The air: shuttlecock And the lowest limbs of the crabapple: boy Published in Cider Press
Once a neighbor boy unzipped his pants at me in the woods. We were twelve or eight or who knows how old, but his