june, you, monthlong solstice

your 30 days of day

of The Light’s false dominion.

he suggests a good way to estimate
the number of roses on my climbing rose bush
is to count the number of buds and blossoms on one linear foot

so, I do.

there are 60 or more on one stem / i probably missed some

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6,000? more?! on this 8 year old gem;

how many june bouquets, boutonnières and corsages they would a florist supply

instead,
i keep them all for future rose hips,

and refuse to prune
unless a branch cracks under the weight of drenched petals in this year’s wild june rainstorms

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so many vases i have filled this june.

i suggest that i may create a perimeter of this variety,
an impenetrable devastating fortress of thornage, a natural, beautiful “devil’s rope”

a physical warning

i once saw mule deer clear an 8′ fence in colorado — without a running start, could a herd of robot dogs do that?

he sees i have saved all the old nails, screws and Mexican coke and beer bottle caps in an empty 3lb coffee tin

for shrapnel.

he eyes the unrecycled bottles in the barn

i don’t say m*l*t*v but he knows.

i pivot with his nervous laughter,

so that he may understand the dual nature of the Crone /

i point:

i observe these hollyhocks as a reverse summer advent calendar
the last blossom atop the tallest stem blooms
on august 31

the last day of summer, i say

we all know september is not still really
summer.

now,

Continue reading “summer.” →