Into the Teeth of the Wind
Selected poem from Volume III, Issue 4
Willow Seeds
It’s Spring and all along the trickling creeks
That carve the gullies and their clayey banks,
The air is speckled with willow down, enough
To fill a cross breeze with stray bits of fluff
Out of the channels on to flatter land —
The seeds indifferent to the least demand,
Or even to the question why they’re here,
Aloft and aimless, though when backlit, clear.