25 (NaPoWriMo 2020– Suburban Spring)

–after Issa translated by Robert Haas

An eroded black hive hangs abandoned in
the brown maze of a maple tree, covering this
white house like a pall, conjuring a world
patterned after images of Hades, and we
shudder, trying to not stare during our walk;
approaching like road weary travelers on
an undefined quest, our steps disorder the
the banquet of leaves fallen from the roof
to the uneven, winter scarred sidewalk of
this new neighborhood, an unfamiliar hell
of flawless emerald lawns made for gazing,
like star flooded skies; but we walk on, at
a pace as steady as the blooming of flowers.

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