Open to All | Kenneth Pobo |
Gourds In the back yardon the fence they lie on leaves, Indian pottery, no two alike, some with fat bottoms, vegetable Buddhas, others twisty- o and elegant. Even in December when they fall they melt over soil, completely original. but you can gather up the stragglers, shake them to hear the rattling of paper clips, bring them in at dawn, frost in crevice lakes melting, gourds laughing till they roll off the shelf. |
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2River |