The Forest of Be and Not Be;
or, Thoughts on a Rainy Sunday in December
hiding the forest floor
where small creatures busily tunnel
safer from the owl.
rolling down the hill
pushing fog and leaving it behind
to smudge contours revealed by snow.
black with rain and glaze
reaching starkly from snow volcanoes
pointing out the fog.
bearing the season’s decorations
of water and ice
turning to water
turning to ice.