Poetry Blogs (crocus)

Thirty

Rivers carry debris until floods release ghosts

So the dead can make deposits and withdrawals

Planks, fallen branches, corpses of fish, fowl, mammals and dreams

Become ghost ships carrying organisms to new destinations

With water as medium the dead and the undead sally forth as equals

 Two: 

Good River Feeling Bad

 Her voice is deep water

Though she’s too shallow ...

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crocus buds burst forth
peep and poke through dunes of white
winter bows to spring

when the sun begins to shine again
life's vital truths made clear at road's end

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