a thought came
twirling down
from a graying November tree,
one of the last to fall,
announcing,

'look at all my crusts of death,
and answer me.

--bipeds of clay,
do you doubt when
howling winds, ice, and snow
embalm
our root to rock,
that Spring will squeeze
out of us
baby buds again?

for each change
the wintertime will become warm,
the dark will lift,
the lawns will need a...

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hungry hourglass happens
human helplessness--
humanity hastes, hangs, hovering
between bottomless boundaries
bouncing, bobbing buoyantly
but back below
sands sift with shifting sorrows-
sunsets sink senile-- so,
how do hating humans have hope?
temporal time turns turnips into topsoil--
topsoil into tar-pits,
a tale that is told
by battling bugs boasting
of being bold beings
above & b...

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