by ten the back field’s in the sun
uneclipsed and warm enough
to kindle underground infernos
and beans erupt

circling something
celestial bodies orbit

center of gravity  —call it
what you will it

onion shoots from soil unbend
calisthenic green asses in the air, till soon
they uplift tapered arm-fronds to the sky

upspring, they uncoil
unfolding from their yoga pose


later to be drenched
in garlic-ladened olive oil


by Jim Culleny


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