J. Freeborn
– SOLMONAÞ

We got engaged in mud season, asking

if the other, right enough, would stick around

a while. And ankle-deep in new-transfigured earth

it’s easy to remember they still build homes

from mud. Mix in water, straw, rock, sand

lime, or asphalt and let the agitation settle. The smell

off the fields on our evening’s tramp

is sharp with possibility, like everything in early

spring. All that died in the former season

will be making its way to the top again—fresh

and gleaming for the world to see, before giving

over to what’s waking underneath.