Season’s Haikus

There is nothing like
The fall, the whistling in air—
The way the ground feels.

Margaret Atwood
Eats fat in winter, she says
And I feel close by.

I tried to wake up
In spring. But I took naps.
Cooked the squirrels.

I did not wake up
In summer, days for dogs who
Drank from bowls of dreams.

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