Lorca’s Green
(for Nancy . . . 62 years)
More even than
Lorca dreamed:
an acre’s carpet
of summer grass,
dewdrop’s refracted
green, humming-
bird hovering over bee
balm’s red, catalpa’s big-
hearted, low-hanging green,
clever green of katydid,
tulip tree’s tossed blooms,
a lovely litter of greenish-
yellow, woven green
of shadowed ferns,
the married green of our
desire, time be damned.
Walking the Dryness of a Country Road
Listen to the prayer of the field,
the multitude that hops, crawls, and flies.
Admire the exquisite bulk of a single horse
standing in the pooled shade of a single tree.
Slow down for the fawn drinking
from a shallow pond. Talk to it.
If it looks up, be thankful.
What would you give to touch it?
As you pass by the dead possum,
regret the loss of a tick eater.
Consider the truck coming your way,
in its wake a tawny cloud of dust.
If it helps, think camels,
iced coffee, Krispy Kremes.
Why camels? Why not . . .
the day deserves camels.
Why Krispy Kremes? As Rumi says,
A great silence overcomes me . . . .
A retired teacher of English and photography, Roger Pfingston is a recipient of a National Endowment for the Arts fellowship. His poems have appeared in a wide range of publications, including The Naugatuck River Review, I-70 Review, Sheila-nag-gig, and Cloudbank. In 2024 he was nominated twice for a Pushcart Prize. His chapbook, What's Given, is available at Kattywompus Press.