a cold trickle emerged, cleansed
by layers of dirt
Slither of sapwoodsilk string wrenches nock to nockbreath waits while head wanders
Basboosa's barrow
tumbled: 'No permit, no work.'
He burned in the street.
Vernal equinoxcrocuses in purple poolsthat warm day in March
Draw a circle in
the air. Move your hand forward.
Slowly. Close enough.
