Honey

Lots of low stumbling thunder

this morning waking up

I took my time

no milk

I knew that

but plain yogurt

and honey fat like raindrops

leading the squall line

never drizzled

never turning back

into last night’s rain.

inter

inter

at your plot
in trees above
the Gladstone tracks
the sun is your hat today
you never saw
your sister run
her rocking horse
a straw brimmed hat
trimmed in pink
grooms her hair
a braided strap
reins her regal chin
she wouldn’t know
Dale Evans, Trigger
in black and white
from my childhood
even then rerun
red dimpled rolls
of Kilgore caps
strings of Black Cat
firecrackers
not hers
not yours
what makes this plot sacred
will I bury your ashes here
without ceremony
without lily puddled ritual
before I leave
and carve god in caps in stone