[a broken haiku]
daffodil’s respite
from a fool’s spring: March
marches forward
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Poet. Essayist. Fictioner. Steamboat fireman. Bit of a grackle.
A cold turn of weather and an opening road.
Though it’s incorrect to call the road opening. The road has always been there. Whittled down as I am by the world, whittled down to taking the offensive, when all I wanted was to be left alone. But I am grateful I have not been abandoned. I have, in fact, been embraced by the wild wind, and so my course is set and blind.
And it’s all for her. For them. And, yes. Also for me.
The days can be
a good crisp winter apple
small and sweet
full of flavor
and the slightest hint
of spring.
Take each deliberate bite.
early May
all rain and expectation
unspoken prayers for the tomatoes
come July
