My house holds a place
on a hill. To my left,
terraces retain the earth.
Blocks interlock
above the lower alleyways.
To my right, the hill
slopes gently to the chain
links below. Between
these extremes, I wrangle
a push mower. Along
my left half I carve vertical
lines, letting gravity
pull my sputtering green
engine toward the hedgerow
where I swivel and drag
the handle behind me.
Along the right I go
horizontal. Nearest the gnarly
roots of the old maple,
where the chopper wants most
to flip in my arms, I leave
the tall grass to heighten.  

– Cameron Morse