N  a  p a  l  m     H  e  a  l  t  h     S  p  a  :     R  e  p  o  r  t     2  0  1  2








to the rusted pump

and the burnt grass

gone gray in the wind


to the knives sharpened

for the white ward

and the scattered shards

of blackened pottery


ice islets drift downriver

in the thaw as we honor

our false prophets

and send the ones whose

predictions came true

into perpetual exile


a fog moves in

we cast our nets

for the few fish

unclaimed by winter



February 19, 2011