After the Dregs

The dregs,

bottom of the cup.

 

Itchy snow,

crusted and gray.

 

Cast away remains.

of seed and suet.

 

Uncovered heaps,

of unknown objects,

that look like things,

we can’t imagine wanting.

 

Pushing through

to what

we have to believe,

comes next,

from out of the dregs:

buoyant hope,

in a thousand colors,

shapes,

and melodies,

bringing us

back

to

our senses.

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