Snowmelt

On three sides of my cottage
the creek roars HUSH.
Inside, nothing but this
damn computer!

*

Out on the porch at 4:00 a.m.
to watch the snow melt.
You laugh, but listen:
the fog came and went.
Lifted,
returned. You
can ask the moon.

*

A raccoon thought it was
the only one awake.
“Hey!”
The two of us can’t be alone
on one porch.

*

Before the snow came
to stay, I had visitors.

*

I still remember the hound dog look
on that hound dog’s face
when he squatted to take a shit.

*

When the snow finally recedes, I find
the meadow voles have made off
with half my lawn.

*

Every spring, bigger holes
show a little more of the spring
that runs
under the lawn.
To ease confusion, let’s call the season
sink.

*

Instant poems for immediate post.
My letter to the world, Emily.
A weblog instead of a steamer trunk.

*

Read ’em while they’re fresh.
I’ll make more.

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave’s writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

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