TUESDAY 10
The poppy field of
dahlias, higher than the wall,
survives the summer.
WEDNESDAY 11
The driver asks me
what treatments the clinic does,
tells me I’m positive.
THURSDAY 12
The density of
cloud flows past, a heron swoops
across the window.
FRIDAY 13
Sage-scented pavement
flowers, globes of Yves Klein Blue,
still summon the bees.
SATURDAY 14
Mauve is a word I
don’t use much, but now it’s on
my hair, I like it.
SUNDAY 15
Apples growing red
close to the window in the
old dairy tea shop.
MONDAY 16
Misty moisty this
morning, drizzle, no old man
clothed all in leather.
Seventeen 