28 February 2012
Better.
Return
The sun's warm against the slats of the granary,
a puddle of ice in the shadow of the steps;
my uncle's hound
lopes
across winter wheat
fresh green cold green.
The windmill. long out of use, screeches
and twists in the wind.
Spring day, too loud for talk,
when bones tire of their flesh
and want something better.
- Jim Harrison
Labels:
appreciation,
noticing,
poetry
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