Wednesday, February 19, 2020

Epitaph










scrape away the black ink
those particles of bits & pixels from the white white white
scrape them into the mason jar kept in your pocket
for
summer's fireflies & lunar moths
tumbled brilliance secreted for the corner-times
the grey days of winter long
scrape
and
hold the lid down tight as you press it to the fire-line
skin allows such porous knowing
lean against the trail of snow along the willow bark
lean & fill
with the enormity of the domed misty gray
capture this biting chill--this clutched sting
shake the jar
and
delight
in the ordinary comfort
of
chaos & contrast