Pushmower

Pushmower

Blades are rushing, raiding,
goring mower’s roaring
Rotating cuts turn fatefully
beneath me turning lethally

Fallow petals falling,
fazed by death the daisies.
Iron knife is rifling
newest grasses blooming

Can I hear their man-fears
Under me limbs sunder

Pausing now then kneeling
with knees upon the grasses,
I lie down low and peer down
with love inside the cuttings

Red ribbons of amphibians
I find torn on the shorn field,
lost to life short-lasted.
I lift alive a frisking gift,
a frog upon the soggy swathe –
In swamp I free him romping

The haulms have fallen calmly
Cut down, fluttering critters,
some giving life, yet living.

Stopped is ripper’s stripping,
Bees aloft hum softly,
Toads are burping, goading
lovemates for a sating

Slowly, quit, the mower
quakes above earth’s shaking