print previewback CYNTHIA HOGUE
Crocus
Blue shimmer of unbroken sky. We populate the town with dreams, milling around the last elms, interrupting each other’s stain of thought, demanding utter silence. Some yell but others laugh as dogs woof and cough. Really, what’s so funny? Once I climbed a trail so long I had to descend after dark. Stones rose before me. The moon cast shadows from behind that deceived myopic night vision. Winter has run out of reason. Each small memory sprouts like crocus in the crackling air. 
Crocus
Regarding Others' Pain