the trees are covered in ice

it is early morning

the air is frigid

the day will warm

and the ice will melt

the trees are covered in ice

it is early morning

the air is frigid

the day will warm

and the ice will melt

the trees are covered in ice

it is early morning

the air is frigid

the day will warm

and the ice will melt

it continues

and continues

the winter solstice
is still days away
it gets dark so early
this time of year
i light the wood stove
before dusk
summer teases us
days stretch
on and on
and we fall asleep to
crickets and humidity
now the nights are long
they are full of
animal urges
and cravings
i imagine us
two naked bodies
intertwined on the floor
giving way to our
primordial needs
our flesh
illuminated only by the
flickering flame of the
wood stove

the reflection of the sky
in a pool on a barren
field.
is it possible to hold both?
the sun sets in one
and seems to rise
in the other.
this is perspective;
choosing to
turn murky water
into a looking glass,
a portal.

brother can you
hear me

we used to
toil in the fields

side by side
soil under nails

brother can you
hear me

how much
have we aged

perhaps it has
been a million years

brother they
cut me

labor gave me
broken hands

have you seen
my spirit

the seasons changed
the sun shifted

mother is wet
rains beat her raw

brother now what
of love and loss

rich soil deep
within calloused hands

brother where is
the full sun

how do we
return from this

how do we hold
both of these worlds

brother i was not well
this is strange

i want the earth
tangled within me

to strip bare
and return to it

there is a
field
the crops passed
many seasons
ago
here and there
saplings have
sprouted
some thick
with seasoned
bark
from many
winters
around the field
is a stone
wall
it is
crumbling
and lost among
moss
and bramble
and small trees
that have found
their way
to the light
shooting up around
the stones
woven amongst the
rocks
hanging from
rotting
fence posts
and tangled up
in the
long grass
is rusted
barbed wire
camouflaged
against its
surroundings
it catches clothing
and
snags skin
leaving rust stained
lines
within flesh
as a
reminder
of its presence
the field is
all but
inaccesible
one can only
look on
through the various
seasons
and wonder about
the crops
that were once
planted
there many years
ago
one can only
look on
at the trees
that have leapt
up now
left
to their own
way
to their own will
without plow
or foot
to disrupt
them