Song of Morgues

Dry veined leaves play

the song of morgues

outside my window

and I dream of green

growing things and dragonflies.

There is a zoo winter cages

in the spirit when freedom

can’t withstand the breath of ice

or legs sentenced to pace rooms.

Sitting among my penciled tulips

I construct a crayon altar to summon spring,

and listen to a cardinal berate a crow

for its coal drop among crimson.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2018

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