R.V.

R.V.

They carry the shell slow
to a cross-wind, backing of a picture,
a blown-up sun.

Only space they need in the open,
the seating is pew-style taking being
out of rough alarm to Go.

Sleepy afternoon, the ceiling is a flat refusal
to do justice in a wrong time, this new escape
is honored, taking in the fresh air touchable.

Never being separate, the getting along goes
for days to spark this leaving, now leaving
well enough alone to friendly grounds,

flowers are the reward for green,
any cost in spongy bed feeding life,
and proof of speech gone wild.


s.grutz