
Winters harsh dream gone…
yet…seeping residue…angst
path on cracked blue ice.

Winters harsh dream gone…
yet…seeping residue…angst
path on cracked blue ice.
“What is this weather in my soul?
This nameless weather:
Squirrel’s flag-tail pulsating
A silent, nil day.
Exceptional drought……
memory’s ceaseless loop roils;
turkey vultures soar.