The metaphor is not lost on me

How I tramp through these days in your shoes,
learning to build fences in the early april mud.
There is something very like redemption
in the hardpan, & in the thrust
of shoulders exhuming each fistful
of reluctant dirt. Just as there are many meanings
in un-earth, & some that should stay
buried. Lying next to you at night,
I find comfort in the soft wind
of your inhale; it lessens the sadness by a spade.
There is much that I miss still, or perhaps
it is that I am still searching
for the tools to set the thing right,
to find us plumb again.

3 thoughts on “The metaphor is not lost on me

  1. When I read your writings I feel like I’m watching something very private, very insular. I can recognize part of what’s going on, but I can’t explain it entirely. Your poems are always good to remind me to not be so damned prosaic, love Mosk

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