rot

if i were there
i would tell you

winter is facing up
to its past mistakes

no rain
turned to
damp meadows with
muddied hooves

if you were here
you would say

i've never lived
a discontented season
but you are not shakespeare
and i am not grieving

a death i did not feel

past mistakes find themselves
buried like tall oaks
we can chop them down
but the roots live

rotting where we cannot see them