Green by Amanda Barbour

Hummingbird by Gary D. Swaim

I swing that old riding lawnmower around again,
as Deere and I shear new paths, green against green.
Around the first pond and then the second as
bubbling fish lips pierce the surface and a snapping turtle heads
for the deep. I raise the blade and steer
into damp caverns carved in vine and branch. Stop
to savor the tart kiss of blackberry from the vine.
Tracks like upside-down broken hearts
lead beyond the tree line. I follow them sometimes hoping to catch sight
of some wildness. Timid and robust, she would rather not
reveal her power.

Wind through border willows takes my
breath as acres of green lie between me and the road.
I turn back and stare through neighboring goldenrod.
I sing where none can hear as bumblebees dance
among the blossoms.

Ohio backyard of my late teens let me
walk in your fantasy again.
Sit in the cool grass
wrap arms around knees.
Feel at once the budding
without and within.

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