A haze settled over the narrow day. It wasn't
Planning on offering any miracles, only
The usual unusual events, news of shootings
In global capitals, burning high rises, political
Murders, terror. And away from that world
That was not the world, just an itching scab
On its back? Also the usual unusual events,
A freakishly chilly afternoon in June, the lake
Higher than in five years. Ants reconned
The cabin joints. A woodpecker hammered.
Rain muffled the distant sounds of trucks.
The more durable, stubborn sections
Of phenomena, the stones and stars, got on
With their massive tilt toward the next quake
Or black hole. The little, fritillary details
Fluttered into mist. On the shore the fallen
Logs washed down rotted and a paper wasp
Caught in the cabin window did what body
Does when it has no way to thrive, just try.
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