wendell and i commune outside the laundry door

my feet planted softy in the dewey grass

back warming in the gentle morning sun

i move up and down by the basket

spreading wide sheets and

smoothing faded t-shirts

across the sagging lines

from somewhere in my memory

wendell speaks

lilting lines

songs of earth and sun and field

in the rhythm of my work

i take pleasure

and feel joy

these damp garments