to brave spring,
your woodpeckers drum
on dead wood
your siren songs resonate –
cycles of sated seasons
while I digest our last fall
sunburns salved in quiet, weak light
snow piles
and I drift in no direction
brave spring,
let this house in wraps
and the furniture under sheets
breathe breezes as you please
there’s no heart to dust
this dead wood
Image credit: A female Pileated Woodpecker in Shenandoah National Park, Virginia (11 April 2013).
Primitive Joe 
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