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  • Fool that I am
    I turn double nickels and cycle my first century, ride it fast, ride it fierce
    as though I can chase fall back to summer.
    I spoon seckel pears into jars, lay Thai peppers on drying racks, drip blackcurrants into bottles
    as though I can knit summer to winter.

    Fool that I am.

    The trees, all rashy, pulse warnings:
    A coyote, in full southward run, dashes in front of my car as I creep along the driveway
    trying to avoid the flood of deer, rabbits, skunks, frogs, snakes, spiders
    heading across.

    It's as though some sort of plague has unleashed itself.

    Geese laugh as they arrow past
    pulling even the clouds south, a tidal scouring of blue.
    Only a Cooper's hawk stops long enough to zig and zag through the garden
    plucking from the air a small sparrow, fool
    lulled by cherry tomatoes and sage heads heavy with seed
    into staying too long.
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