Sunday, February 20, 2011
humus;
a grasping of leaves, a push
of wrists into mulch,
the petals revealed under a rotting log,
crumbling to peat and heady rubber mushrooms; their white caps turned up
we're shown these treasures, unabashed
at turning bugs out of their homes
and one day
we find a slime mould, a yellow vein
in the sharply clear stream, outside my window and in bed
it tells me that spring has arrived
Friday, February 4, 2011
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