Report: September 29


It was the Feast of St. Michael which means

that twelve years ago, my mother died.

The ivory billed woodpecker is extinct again

and the long dream of progress is over.



A friend called while I was making salad

to report a monarch 

on a goldenrod stalk.

What did I think she should do? 



We talked, and pondered

what we know. Orange,

thus inedible. Late emergent

or tired migrant does it matter?



She left it under a hosta 

with a nectar bouquet.

In the morning, it was gone,

we told ourselves, on its way


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