Friday, September 30 - typo correction (again!)
CAMOUFLAGE
An abandoned feather: a dried-out leaf;
a branch: a shed antler; a toad: a stone;
in the high tawny grass a tawny bas-relief
of half-hidden pronghorns on the run;
geese overhead: gridlocked drivers, close,
leaning on their horns; thunder: a truck
barreling down my street, rattling windows
(an enormous semi, when the earthquake struck).
A branchless tree trunk is an obelisk
until its top lifts off, flaps hulking wings
and glides: a great horned owl prowling at dusk.
Soon, perhaps we'll learn---a cricket sings,
or is that just the evening's quickening pulse?---
to rise and reappear as something else.
(Jacqueline Osherow)