Conrad DiDiodato

    
A Sort of Blue

Chestnuts encircled with leaf
squat in dirt. And the squirrel tail robust enough
to sweep down hard on it, after a rain,
is gentle also.

     A sort of blue between clouds
moves the mayfly more than the deviant bee, or ant
whose matchstick's a Cosmos carried
back to his bed

     Wasps bear their own husks best
Clouds that drop a forepaw close to take waters
will billow like thick curling thoughts,
powdery in a way

     squirrel tails can never be
A red-bulbed sun looks down hastily on us all,
with a glazed, a restless vengence
Chokeberries swell