Of fern bed:
crow feather, shell fragment
chip of bone then petrified
tennis orb, further down
shard of soccer sphere
treasures I uncovered
this morning burrowing
through the mess and mulch
of fall's leavings -
the annual excavation of ancient
Octobers when the yard
was fodder for kick or hide
chase/pretend -
thankfully the skeleton
days have returned
it's fossil time again
3 comments:
what a picture weaving string of words. i read it again. very much like it, the terseness of truth sometimes.
Thanks, terseness perhaps, though I don't know about truth. As you say- sometimes, maybe, but not usually...it's what I see.
The God of Bacon says that the difference between archaeology and dump picking is the age of the dump.
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