the nocturnal fox aims its muzzle at the sun
Author: Dave Bonta
I live in an Appalachian hollow in the Juniata watershed of central Pennsylvania, and spend a great deal of time walking in the woods. My books of poetry include FAILED STATE: HAIBUN, ICE MOUNTAIN: AN ELEGY, BREAKDOWN: BANJO POEMS, and ODES TO TOOLS.
after months of snow
the rust on the drainage grate is in full spring bloom
the snow gone
white versus green figure & ground switch on the striped maple
mourning cloak
won’t your tongue get stuck to that icy snow?
groped for each other
& stopped just short of grappling wild grape tendrils
dead tendril
still clinging tight to a quarter inch of nothing
vernal pool
leafy muck visible through each reflected trunk
way out on the ice
some small dead thing with its attendant crow
“No Swimming”
meltwater shimmers atop the ice
the wooden footbridge
connecting the snowy streambanks is already green
the dead oak
has sprouted fat icicles where it spans the spring
early spring creek
icicles get wavier as they near the water
