Nicole Thibodeau

of dawn–

fuchsia, amber, becoming white

clouds like small sheep grazing on blue

a white truck sees mine and passes

up by the manure heap I’m painting the valley

hay rolls like dough near the bend in the road

edges of trees unfurl green

strolling to the place where the wild plums blossom

and I smell them in remembrance of you

every day our cells oxidize

roots dissolve stone

death every moment

death everywhere–