Ficly

Winter; Rainstick

With his back to the wind
He watches the snow rise,
Fall, swirl, accumulate at
His feet firmly cushioned
To the beach, sternly sunk
By the boatyard brambles.

Hood up,
Stars clouded,
He sparks a fire,
Its flames rise higher/
Ash sloughs off like moths
into the night’s blues and whites/
He
Listens
To the spiking
Trickle of snow pebbles
Percussing the
Bone dry,
Porous
Bark
Of
A

Leafless Maple/

(Not lifeless,
Though, just as incapable)

It’s
Limbs
Extend
As if in
Prayer,
As if in
Pleasure,
As if at peace/
A delicate trunk,
A scurry of claws,
A snapping stick/the
Yard is thick with life
(Burrowed in the below-
Zero flow of snow)/
Melting on his
Face/ a cry 4
Absolution
Rings hot
With the
Fleeing
Crows/
With
The
Sin-
gle
Gun-
shot/
On its
Hallowed
Road of echoes

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