May 25.vii

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Kubler-Ross, I’m going out
of order. Ended up

in the weeds,
under the grape

arbor in the lightest
of rain, pulling clumps

of them out by hand,
sending rocks hurtling

to my dog’s great
amusement.

Although the kitchen
metaphor is apt —

so far under, I’m standing
on the bottom; Metis

a major oceanid, myself,
feeling salty.

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