MERCY


January-cold,
snow sits mounded
on the Colorado spruce
like a fat Buddha

glistening in sun
 

Nirvana
this must be

not to shiver
not to talk until spring

and then the tulips
sit bulbous

atop themselves
stems
of rebirth
 

I think of you digging
with cow manure

planting the colors
row upon row

that now hide
smug and whitened

under a winter moon

Meditating
now and here
 

O great white lie.

                            -- David Radavich

 


 

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