Sunday, December 16, 2012
Sifted winter across blank fields, found
wheat stalks in piles against the floor, the small Ruths
& the small Boazes
& a draught
of something nourishing.
Not far from here’s a town.
Multiplication tables cornered
in a Pee-Chee folder holding over
transcript in Sanskrit of a tiny hand,
a spring day, a broken wheel.