I miss the snow
and the flat, brown grass
when winter was a
cold, wet bird
its empty nest
sits in my brain
where two branches
meet / yesterday and
and I'm sliding through this
nostalgia like boots through mud
unearthing a lovely scent
ancient, flat, wet, cold
and brown, but certainly not
aiding my current
condition / here in this chair
with thoughts so inaccurate
life could take me
to court