Encomium, from the Front Porch

come a summer evening that breeze in the daisies

they walk arrhythmic off kilter thin-necked daisies

foundering in the wind touch only now & then

& just their mottled hands they must each

be nearly ninety like an old coat the left half of her

hung his fly undone I guess they get along but why

why all winter I swaddled that rose in burlap & anyway

it up & died why when I’m not looking cat snaps

the lazy necks of fledglings why the blueing daisies

falling tree flowers his shined shoes why at the corner

why that’s where I looked why in the slip & tremble

of her two hands she took once more & touched his face