UNTITLED

Stumbling into the back yard’s 

bent, blonde grasses

and a thicket of knobby saplings

lining the remnants of an

old, red car. 

Half exposed tires, wearily

fight invisible powers. 

Upholstery evidence of a howl 

is caught in the back seats’ chocolate 

ice cream stain. What’s inside a
holy emptiness anyway but 
metal and screams?

See those coiled, green buds 

nodding over the flattened hood?

Those small undertakers digging 

with white finger roots in Spring’s 

dense mud?

It’s only right. Green unfurls

into freedom until empty 

arrives with a deep purse, 

scattering pieces of need, 

to help us surrender 

to another dried darkness.