Groundwater

Chunter of the wood stove, perpetual

sound and motion of disintegration;

 

ash falls with small explosions, red

flowers before the grey and dusty end.

 

So many days we have not seen the sun,

and the sky moves sluggish and slow,

 

the flock thickens… This heavy soil slops

under water where boots splash, and if you

 

listen hard, you can hear it pop and sigh.

Birds sing regardless. Spring is coming.

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