That there (be)

these tossings, on the walkway, aside. Lightly,
gauzed, they are, left like the hose, dewed, on
the white walkway. There(s), gardening to do,
hair betwixt the blades, green and slickly turning
to, here, they are shears, on the under
gardened impatiens, dew dew.

That there (2)

be things uninhabited, if only in my mind
uninhabited. A promenade of azaleas
in front of my house, being not what they look like
or what I am reminded of running through them,
but a refusal. That my asking does not drive me
toward these things like bees, but I have asked
and it is over.

That there (discard on love)

is night long enough for me to take, and calm, its consistency
that of a pond I watched in early spring completely
in love. With who is not important, but how the surface
of it was running over the dark. In patterings of turtles
flopping off. A duck apart from the raft what-ing
at dogs. I am asking to be met here, that there be a jiggling
of leaves that fashion the poplars, having the sounds and shapes
of leaves; that they fall, accordingly, around me.