The tree in the garden
has not yet received news of spring—
stubs of limbs and branches, remainders
of polynomial division.


In the living room,
a small pink light radiates.
I place a cube of ice
in the orchid tray.


The cold that returns
at night reminds us:
all the work we do
is always here.


In response to Via Negativa: Abstract.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.