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