Wet Snow: a haiga sequence

old silk threads
new caterpillars
of snow

with snow still falling
coyote was
just here

snow fog—
trees trunks fade
into the woodwork

wet snow—
the lichens’ thirst
is evergreen

snow erasure—
upturned tree roots
glossed as wings

under the slush
green dreams

snow so fresh
even pokeweed stalks
look glamorous

something taps
something falls silent
in the spruce

tree with its tongue out
forgetting for a moment
where I am

locust tree
like a folklore stag—
snow magic

snow done falling
meltwater drips
from my hat brim

witch hazel
harboring sunlight
in the form of snow

snowy stillness
a low gurgling
from my gut

among trees
dropping their snow
my pattern-seeking

middle-aged spruces
don’t we all die
from the ground up

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