This morning dried flowers scattered on the porch.

One yellow dandelion pokes through a hole

in the side of a metal can ­– humor irony beauty

reclaiming the world once again – so simply.

The day is cooler but has the warm dry

smell of summer. The wind an audible

exhale in the trees. And me trying

to order it all into lines –

the uncontainable. I never win.

But at times i inch a step closer

to what’s true inside of things – the crazy

disarrangement of wild grasses

a pattern so delicate and right

it could be a Japanese ink drawing

only better – the continuous

art-making of the world. I bow to it.

—© Maxima Kahn, published in The Jewish Women’s Literary Annual