Backwater
I think I've sat in the yard so long
that the yard
becomes me--
with its autumn rake and trim,
its green leaves anticipating
changes, the cinderblocks
piled so high they turned
to walls.
For all I know, the doves and
grackles know my name.
Each leaf, such as that redbud
falling, must have had
ambitions once.
Now, we're all enclosed
together, sailing quietly
over the hours and days,
dependent on city noises
to link us to the larger world
purportedly
out there, beyond
grape trellis, chaise longue,
and sleeping cats.
Joseph Somoza
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