A Bath for the Muffled

This phantom weather, pluralist

of a droplet, soaks the ground

and saturates these clothes.

An agent of misery cattails

where some new daisy

was presupposed the day.

This damp itch in gloomy hats

is a crawling hint at more to come.

This thirsty cemetery ground

draws hard at fallen water.

How dismal but destinate,

but river,

but strange welfare.

The water is dragged into

the muffled parts, a full, ardent

cleaning, and the ground itself drinks,

quick to feed the havoc, the digging

Autumn spade of graveside grass.

The Web Projects of Sondra Ball and Mario Cavallini