handless and soaked and left
in slush, in powder,
mini oceans
vanishing like gila monsters
in scrub shadows.
at street corners,
down tree lined paths, on
declining runs of snowy hillsides
packed in with winter fossils,
near doorsteps
again gaining
short term lives
in a shovel’s heave,
a galoshes withering frustration
a warm dog mist, a weep
 |
||
 |
 |
|