Spring Song
Mud cracks its teeth.
Roots crunch and seep
a stored sunlight.
There are open veins
under wet sods.
We are conveyed above the melt
on guttering rapids
through the narrows
of squelching hedgerows
toward the drumming
of new-sprouted stems.
Winter thaws in hollows,
pushes heat into slick droplets
for the sip and swallow
of greening throats.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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