by Mark Nenadov

The Lord sprinkles

a little green powder

into the drab mix

of colours left over

from Winter’s painting

and we see the sun

and the rain

which chases

the Winter away.

 

I see a bird crawl into a hole

and then a rainy day comes

laying out a composition

of raindrops on my window

and the fog obscures

the horizon’s parade

and the charade of civility

ends

when

those wheels

toss spit of the road

sprinkled

with contempt

on my windshield.