091816d

generations

Geese speak of winter

on a tadpole-riddled pond;

in the mud chilled tendons stretch.

I crawl to myself each day,

cling to a narrow ledge,

the earth falls away.

She played in the coal scuttle,

taught her doll to swim,

chocolate was a nightmare..

Sunlight cleaves emerald buds,

molecules propagate through me;

a hot wind is rising.