Sowing
He dreams of thin chickens pecking at a dirt floor.
A big brown teapot is stuffed with scraps of poetry;
words waiting to be led out like bawling cattle
into the haze and dust.
As he does every day, he seeks some less worked earth
to plant words into, hopes they will mature into
filler, grout, and spackle to patch up his wormwood.
Mostly they scatter on a dry wind
until night reclaims them.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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