Hydrangea
After the summer rain
The world softens
To a gauzy pink cotton
Of groggy saturation.
Water drips from eaves
Metronomically preserving
An illusion of duration
While time enjoys
Its brief leave of absence.
A lone bat flutters away
Like an epileptic X
Against the pastel sky
In strange repeatable patterns.
I had only meant
To take out the trash.
No one prepared me for this.
A leaf of the white hydrangea
Collapses under the weight
Of its aliquot of summer precipitation
And then springs back up.
8/16/26
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