Tom Thompson

these Tom Thompson days—

the deep thaw of early spring 

seeping down into the winter dry cracks 

the breeze finding that strange,

twisted pine to pine along with

a sloosh of salted-dirt slush— —

we tap, boot print dams into the 

roadside rivers, a world of our devising 

where we are the kings & queens

where we are on the little tug boat

& we are drifting out to the gutter sea, alone & bobbing too feriously

swallowed by the gurgling gobble 

of the city drain

Oh, the sweet memory of this 

childhood game

before the spring began to sprang
(This art is actually entitled Early Snow but it feels like it could be a melting winter into spring capture, and this is much what it looks like this time of year only the evergreens are a little more dull) 


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