Winterkill

When it died, the porcupine
leaked its fluids onto the snow
like a junker car.

I turn it over
with a stick: no sign
of a wound.

Startled up from the forest floor,
sixteen doves go whistling
into the snow squall.

Series Navigation← OpeningWinter sky, age 5 →

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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