January light;
All sunlight has disappeared
Leaving just the gray.
How many birds come
In a steady stream to Spring;
(Where is the bird shit?)
Still and immobile
Olivia/Collette stand
Like bovine statues.
Still, the stream ripples
No ice can survive in it;
The flow must go on.
Pile of dead wood
Lies next to the standing stumps--
Communion of death.
Just beyond the fence
A large beach ball is resting.
(No one plays with it.)
Wild, free and untouched
Just a few feet off the road:
Yerry Hill tundra.
Surviving the woods
The cup will last forever--
Power of plastic.
A single leaf lies
In the currents of the stream--
Power of a rest.
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