Untidal
Mar 18, 2021
I am afraid but very
much like a river
of newspaper in a dream;
the drip you hear when
it rains may be inside,
holding on to the sliver
of moon while driving;
spring crocus not cold
waiting on the first ladybug
to explain away death,
this is very normal, a tree
with the legs of my mother,
crossed, ancient. I kiss them.