My Bones Will Stand Past Many Seasons

The damp cold air
Gnawed at my flesh
Like a dog scraping its teeth on chicken bones
The cold is fleeting,
My flesh is fleeting
But my bones will stand past many seasons,

Tibia, tibia to
Skull, two holes
Empty as universes
Without a diamond star inside
And stoic as a stone statue.

A Personal Vision of Vanishing Wildlife's Ode to Joy

childhood eyes reached the lake
the shallow stones off
seemingly endless water

toe of my boot embedded in the dirt

about the feel of
about the sight of
uncovered bits of red siding

beneath the soles of my feet
clamshells and small
minnows darting
in swift dark fleets

"it does smell
but that's ok
if I suffer from eating it all"