Kenneth Pobo
Under Ice
This snow
is like some hearts—hard,
immovable. I work
until I see wet ground,
where winter aconites
start to green. They’ll
send up yellow blossoms,
undeterred, small suns
beside the back door.
This snow
is like some hearts—hard,
immovable. I work
until I see wet ground,
where winter aconites
start to green. They’ll
send up yellow blossoms,
undeterred, small suns
beside the back door.