Winter and Spring
       

One must take into account
the missing tuber,
that person on the bridge
who isn't there a moment later.

Winter is hard, leaving its bruises:
bodies floating, lives unhinged
and drifting where they shouldn't.

For anyone reading this,
there will again be a time
to stand up, to flex lifeblood
into sleepy arms and legs,

to step outside and discover
what sad debris the thaw has released
to wash downriver.

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Copyright © 2012 Randolph Thomas All rights reserved
from Iron Horse Literary Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission