SIMPLE INSTRUCTION

Kristen Lenea Ryberg

Simple Instruction

A broken farmhouse sits at road's end, each wall
a different caving in.  Now, the porch has fallen,
gingerbread trim stills a happy outline.

I don't know all my neighbors, pass days alone
ringed by rhododendron lawn, wood pecker echoes,
white-tails in winter forage.

I may close shutters, block slanted sun, although solid
cannot stop light, light is inside a lemon, a stone.
In spring, I give away what feels heavy, to a stream. 
Wind. Seed.

Eventually, everything is equal, a giver of some sort,
green through concrete. How do you say what is sadness
what is joy?  Disneyland all empty, slick-grinning facade.

Today, a toad entertains enough, soft belly a bellows
croaks, 
on edge of indecision 
leaps! 
A sort of flight.