Oddments

In search of story


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Connections: February 18.18

Of the dawn I asked

Do you burn with frost or fire?

Is this the scald

of ice or ire?

Are you flushed with fever

reflected pain

or with northern lights

of frigid disdain?

 

 

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Connections: January 7.18

Behind the brambly trees,

near distant,

the horizon burned,

color of gladiola

I have summer-seen,

but quick to cool,

lost to cinder grey

though I stretched my hand

to stop it —

ashen sky now

ashen snow —

the awning on the swing flaps

like trapped bird,

winter warming laps

at frozen ground,

then ice.

 

Connections


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Connections: July 14.17

It’s an earthen air

sagging over the dawn

musty

sweating on the lawn

popping with toadstools

and yesterday’s rain sits still

gathering the scent of soil

and a nameless farmer’s till

ghosts of crops past

rain-wafted now

old farms unburied

by summer storm plow

smells of wet summer

airy thick soup

fragrant toothsome

morning droop.

 

Connections