Ditmars

You close all doors and get cozy
Disappearing into lilac
Sinking into terrible shapes
Unlike the stout versions of stock
From meaty countries
Where complaints are weak
You salvage your independence
For rice wine
And why not
It's been this way for years
Signs losing their color
Fruits losing their buoyancy
All the fields in the world
Succumbing to fish eye
Wrapping you in blankets
Prickly crab grass and weeds
But a blanket still
--
3.5.13