bleary-eyed father
runs down the trail seeking
something, perhaps
resembling silence
inside the crooked walls
of the shingled shack
below
not seeing
with eyes
but rather feeling
with memory
spring in the earth
around him
struggling also
to arrive
again this year
late
empty
bird feeder
in willow tree
budding
down-hill
reaching
for the runoff
runnels carved
in gravelly earth
and microscopic
horsetail forest
swollen
door
swung and latched
behind him
pen and
paper
in hand
seed opening
sprout of verse
a song for spring
let loose
where it flutters
and flowers up
and out
to the open window
trailing strong roots
embracing the shack
and all its fertile rot
bleary-eyed father
becomes bright-eyed
creator
breathing dream verse
in musty
shack
Jonas Lamb 