Gophers

A week of triple digits.
The birds stay low.
No sign of life, except
gophers scuttling across dry grass

making for the lower regions. 
Roots, tubers and bulbs. Gophers
turn down and inward, thrive
on lonely. 

Look, here’s one that feels
the vibration of our feet 
and scuttles off again.
Lowly, homely, alive.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2006

Poem

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