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Heat MAG
The druids outside my window
hang their cowled heads in
leafycontemplation
among my cabbages and squash.
The mist of morningcloaks
their shoulders and the curve
of their necks bent under the weightof
a hundred seeds.
Ancient, the druids stand around my
watermelons withpeace and moisture,
speaking of things to come
and things long gone
asthe stalks of bean plants
coil around their thighs.
I watch through mywindow
this twilight moot
among my vegetables and feel the first
calm ofmorning settle in my bones and in my fingers.
© Anonymous
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