Like snows ago,
winter's fragmented crystal sank to bottom brooks,
the watery crypts of seasons long but short of memories.
And now from glacial blue, the sky rains pollen down on me
in blizzard gales of ancient dames, who snap their bonnet heads
and greening arms to spring salute.
Who are these Appalachian witches?
They are as follows: Sycamore, Birch and Elm,
Cottonwood, Dogwood Flowering,
Hawthorn, Hemlock, Hickory,
Oak and Holly. I'd recite the 250 woods of them
but for my suffering sinus and sorry matter
blowing hard from out my snozzle nozzle
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