Thanks to the ubiquitous
suburban aversion to rake,
which I take to be a sub-function
of an associated suspicion re: work,
one now can see it in meatspace—
as I think the new term is for “real”—
most days, even in rain: the rise,
as browning, skeletal, blood once
red even or golden over leaves just up,
lifted angelic, or anyway, lively by
how could they know what?
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