Mowing

Smell 
of cut
grass,
wet,
as crows
fly
toward
a
gray
sky,
and the mower
chokes
clogged.

Clover, mostly
not grass.

A hundred 
days doesn’t get you
what it used to.
This break in the rain
our one chance
with only
rain ahead.
Hard? Listen,
it doesn’t
get easier
from here.