deep shadow purpleand heavy with dewi pick morning violets, small water orbspetal cuppedrefracting silver and spring, held by the sweet scentof every lifetime spentwet-kneed in the morning,picking quiet violetsforest edge it is a lonely soundthe distant hollow thudof the gravediggers spadeforest edgein the morningbut deathhas always beenlonely –unwanted, unsummonedunexpectedeven when it isinevitable yesterday old brannon-ponydied…