HoopDance

One thought drops across the hillside.

Its facets shine along cold furrows,

breaking into consciousness,

slide down

deliberate as rain

into pipes a hollow silver

into troughs

their green arms open

into ruts full up with a brown laughter

into old weeds

a joyous handshaking

after young ducks

chuckling even as bridesmaids

their white wings floating

through each puddle

and every pool

the pale color pouring

across the threshold.

Val Morehouse,

This version: May 2000