Not feeling all that poetic this year, for obvious reasons.
But in the spirit of keeping the little gray cells lubricated, here goes #1:
Keep It Simple
While I was gone, rainwater
seeped into the basement, pooling
in the center like a transparent eye.
Fallen branches litter the surfacing lawn,
gnarled as finger bones, signing some
strange winter code.
Now a raw wind bends the cedar's
waking branches, shakes two squirrel dreys into
fading memories,
shivers old electric wires, leaps
into the maple's reddening buds, shudders,
then swirls down
to the humped and rooted ground,
so alive it's
invisible.
