network

the young grass stands slight
and fragile against the cold.

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prelude

the sharp blade pierced the greening grass
and shovelfuls of soil revealed wakened worms
shrinking away from the light

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even this

and is it possible even on Easter even on the day when all things began being made new is it possible that even on this day of days i could with one breath bless God and with the next curse humanity? o, my God, what is it in me that responds this way? what pride…

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An extravagance of snowflakes

Winter doesn’t always bring snow to my neck of the Middle West. Sometimes we get freezing rain, sometimes we get 60-degree days in February, and sometimes we just have long stretches of frigid weather where the ground turns rock-hard and the faces of the limestone bluffs become encrusted with stalactites of ice.  But this season the snow has visited us again – three times before winter even officially started, and twice more since the new year.

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remembering the future

i’ve lost a poem. this, i suppose, is the danger of composing most works online and then transferring them to computer file or paper later. it feels like having lost a friend or a treasured memory. actually, i wonder if i deleted it in a moment of panic. it described something i’d seen quite vividly…

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