Thursday, April 3, 2014
The way the steeple juts
from the church top
like somebody’s zealous
The way the woodstove creaks
in expansion as the fire builds inside;
the way it readies itself for stoking
and the lingering afterglow.
The way the wind presses
its finger to the lips of a dandelion bloom
just before hushing it into gentle spasms
of letting everything go.