This winter — egregious
for its lack of birds, brethren
and the hunts past rendered in snow:
the prints, domestic and brand-name,
plodding the same diligent course:
house to car, car to house.
Each same and dingy march
unremarkable save for its sameness,
its burly resistance remarkable
for the insistence to carry on as if
these winters and not as winters
centuries ago, lost to the bowels
of heat and hunkered, unskilled
in the ways of a wintering
and the withering of such
a meager supply.
Image: Mattyas Lamar on Unsplash
Sweet and Bitter Greens 