April Prompts #23
Kari’s #5: A deep hole
This clay goes all the way down
to mother stone. Centuries of drift.
Slick, blue, the scent of deep water.
It holds water, holds the prints
of raccoon, possum, deer, dog.
It dries in cracks like flats of salt.
It takes a sharp spade,
a strong back. Every daffodil
a sacrifice; every tree paid in pain.