At 4a.m. Snow
       

Fog is suddenly brought
over the river, the dead
having sighed on
their past in unison.
Earth stands on
end, listening.
The acid sun turns on
limes green as leaves
surrounding them.
Mother has planted
fruit trees on the verge
of discovering the river's
hackles are water's
bones. Father, upstream, ice
fishing. On and on.
Some morning coheres in frost.
In the shade of its coherence,
we can bear no one.

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Copyright © 2021 Suphil Lee Park All rights reserved
from Present Tense Complex
Conduit Books & Ephemera
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission