Alan Britt



A rosy finch pecks rain from a cabbage leaf,

where he’s joined by another, another,

then another.


Soon each ruby back

forms a calyx

between silvergreen leaves.


A misty breeze

drags a cool veil

across the bare shoulders of dusk.


From our late afternoon back yard,

I hear the kitchen clock’s brass pendulum

digging a beautiful summer grave.

Copyright © 2003 Alan Britt.  All Rights Reserved.

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