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A fine boletus startled me:
it stood where nothing used to be,
with a big broad cap, all rusty red
with yellow on its upturned edge.

I found its name inside a book
which told me it was good to cook.
But what if that's a misprint? I
might wreck myself, or even die!

And anyway, I had no yen
to pick this lonely specimen.
I liked its looks and wanted more;
I left it there to spread some spores.

Tiny umbrella
at the base of the toilet:
the wood floor, rotten.

Little smokestack onion-domes
down among the garden gnomes
Fun to smush 'em with your shoe
when there's nothing else to do:
summer boredom. Fairy rings
made me dream of wilder things.

O tiny, fragile parasol
Gossamer, two inches tall
Dove-gray silk that shimmers bright
in the golden morning light
Such enchantment seems absurd
springing from a horse's turd