11 toward the Omer

netzach shebgevurah

The goats next door run to the fence to greet me

in my pajamas and the six apple cores in this bowl.

Some things are hard to chew, but it seems to depend

in part on how they are oriented when you eat them,

or, rather, on how you orient yourself to them, though sometimes

there’s a fence restricting movement and you don’t have any choice

over the method, let alone the matter. My bike is grimy

but functional. I go get groceries, go home, go back again

for the rest of the load, pass the same construction crew.

Coasting downhill, I watch the wheels meet the road and turn—

so many circles proving equal to a line without an end.