Here From Somewhere Else
Sometimes the market band
(here from somewhere else)
plays bluegrass.
The grass looks green
in the sun, goes blue
in shade, low-flying shadows.
Every night (the band says)
dusk leans over Kentucky:
long meadows; tall grass
bows, shading itself blue.
Every morning, dew slides
slender light along grass
blades, bending them blue.
The slide, the bend and bowing –
they’re here, in delicate boxes:
banjo, mandolin, fiddle & guitar.
The mouth harp blues them down.
—Judith Arcana, Portland, OR
