T-shirts hang by their tails,
Dyes blown by March wind,
Daffodils flit nearby, lending their aroma,
Clothes, chased by their shadows,
With each waft detergent slips away,
Replaced,green grass, dogwood,
Laundry at night, moon infusing,
Shadows hang, almost dry,
Dawn- folded and baskested,
Closed drwaers or draped onto bodies,
Fated to be washed again,
And hung out to dry in the daffodil breeze.
