Winter Bitten

"Everything is dying"
she speaks into the dawn
this winsome pale old lady
she sings the carnivores songs
slide back into the shadows and shrug
it's not as if she's wrong



whether we get wed or simply turn up dead
we will be at the trailhead
it's a nice place to meet
here on Laramidia street
where the turtles lay their eggs on the beach to the east
caimans and bison and moose with webbed feet
ichneumon wasps the size of a helicopter fleet



pure blood spilled on snowy ground
small cold flies buzz and maggots play
wind breathes a quiet, dampening sound
tattered flags flap like the wings of decay
ice melts on eyelashes and streams down
at the beginning of the day



blade crafted leaf spring from a 1930s rig
cold night in winter stick a rabbit on a spit
in pockets wires and nails, marbles, stones and twigs
resourceful and resilient, little tools and big
with few real skills outside of math and nature, dig