Hardened ground. Grass almost black
and still
the question remains—do I repeat myself? Not only in this life,
but the next?
The house issues its usual sighs. Crows pick the ash tree bare,
perched like finials in frozen air.
Fated sky, itinerant world, what will I unlearn
that I take as gospel now?
Watery mirage of neighbor’s hemlock wavers
through the old pane—living
on the other side. Every day
it’s a snap, it’s a shrug and suddenly I am
amid
bent on place.
Unbidden.
Ready to capitulate.