Monday, April 14, 2008

This happened to me today.

But the osprey delivery happened to my friend Barbara, and "sleeping the churchyard sleep" is an Emily Dickinson reference I ran across earlier today.


In the middle of the road,
a workman’s glove, like a bodiless hand,
index finger pointed the way I’m bound,
toward home.

Driving on, I ponder what brought me
from gentle suburbia to this place
where possums sleep the churchyard sleep
by the roadside, squirrels eat power lines,
ospreys drop half-fishes on the porch.

Then I see the second glove,
on the double yellow line,
palm up, as if waiting for providence
to fall into it.

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