Vagabond

If I were a tree, head-down in the earth, I’d stretch one toe into the clouds.

melting through

the heritage
of snow fleas

back from a walk

finding a clump of snow
in my coat pocket

creaking limbs

shrink-wrapped in ice
my evergreen

February thaw

blood on the road resuming
its slow journey

marks in the snow

from a dangling vine
the wind and me