2 poems

Asa b. Brooks

burning alive in the hilltowns

as this rock floats by the stream
and this solemn pebble falters,
this springtime twig leaf falls apart
and this wandering damp earth comes home again
in time to meet fresh rain.

this all-seeing peeling paint, despite the weather,
talks quickly and loudly to no one,
while this sidewalk worries its worn down self into a corner,
and this country river wonders if it’s dying passively
too brave to ask its family to stay.

A metaphor for something or other

oh winter river, will you run
or hurl ice chunks at the springtime sun
until it acquiesces
and lets you be grateful?

this spiral drawing insect
wants to beat you in croquet.
she has too many dreams
of radiators
and other sturdy things.