Mary Austin Speaker
all the animals come out
Perpetually off balance, perpetually urgent, chickens cannot back up,
with farm gentility, and because it is summer, I offer you one.
When you hear bells ring, you think of your bedroom by the church
Reflective, you are lemonade and alabaster, tourmaline and quartz,
We are foolish enough to begin counting our chickens.
while they utter their chorus of indistinguishable remarks.
is painstakingly detailed—each cuff aligned with its sleeve,
When fall arrives, I am not bothered by its decay,
on the floor. I envy the cushioned bodies of these kaleidescopic birds