small seeds

the prayer-like feeling
of patting dirt

one snow

the forest is fully awake for
doomed blooms

millipede on the green
bathroom wall
waves passing through
its carpet of feet

finding a dead leaf
to wipe my brow

every hour less spring,
more escape

pear trees advertising
for sex

speaking in moss

the pale green sugar
maples’ sun

trembling in the breeze
of passing trucks

with its commitments
living stump

going on and on
about class

to pose as a corpse
wake-robins