first words
Franklin – loving
on Donnell. Wisps
woods. Crisp stars
decorated
peaceful solitudeby myself and gazing
watery arms
reach so far
the golden rocks
meditativein the sky
pink bands
of everything – living
myth. The myth
change. The ancestorslong gone
Saturday feels like
evenings of moonlight
yard like a phenomenal
barrens swathed innon-familiar
decked out in blaze
the woods. Sensation
Debby who is rich
fly up in the brush, brief sunlight
***
Poem composed of the first few words (more or less) of each line of a journal entry.