OPTIONAL POETRY

Afternoon as threshold, precipice. Mid-week, mid-month, equipoise and the cry of a woodpecker. They say the snow’s all done, and now that it’s light later we hacked back the blueberries that won’t produce, severely, taking them down to the ground, provoking life from dormancy, or: hoping. An hour later, still, shears in hand going at spouts and suckers in the bay laurel, getting dark out, and cold, still, to bring order! An evening act, as […]