a few day's rain

and the grass

and trees

pulse with green;

i'd imagine the

kaw

is beating fiercely,

but i haven't

whispered down

those banks in

awhile.

all the cheapened

similes

make me want

to fall in love

with the flow

in moving baptism

float, and end

up in lawrence,

like last summer

upstream,

i wrote a poem

about the

laundromat: and

how i wish i

left my plastic

bags on the side

walk, barefoot

returning home:

wet clothes weigh like

alive and green don't.