Thursday, February 26, 2009

February 26

A poem

This vast earth carries the burden
of countless scabs buried in its skin.
Here I am in a premature spring
scraping them from the surface
in gravel fields and flowerbeds
with a disposition for fracturing.
I put my ear to the till
left wondering, what world is this
where magma and tempering water
spring forth from its crust?

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