ManicDDaily

Here is what some might find an interesting exercise, and others, not so much.  (Sorry.)  I post below three versions of a 55 word poem.    Please feel free to read one or all (or none!) 

They seem different lengths because in one I am using the title to get to 55 words and in the other two I am excluding the title.   I am posting this for the 55 word poem prompt by the wonderful Kerry O’ Connor at Real Toads.  (And, of course, in honor of the much missed G-Man, Galen Haynes.)

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Loss (Thinking of Whitman Maybe)

Loss is planted
underfoot.
It is sown
with our bare feet;
it is sown with our
boxed feet;
it is sown by the foot that extends
over the pyre, the last
to come to ash.
It grows at first
as grass; we don’t realize, walking,
how it tiptoes below.

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Thinking of Whitman Maybe

Loss is planted
underfoot.
It is sown
with our bare feet;
sown with our
boxed feet;
sown by the foot that extends
beyond the pyre, last
to come to ash.

It grows at first
as grass;
we don’t realize, walking,
how it tiptoes below,
parrying the blows of breeze,
bursts of sun, clouds’ knees.

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Loss (and Thinking of Whitman, Maybe)

Loss is planted
underfoot
sown by bare foot
sown by boxed
sown by that foot that’s coaxed last
to ash, that stretches beyond
the pyre.

It aspires
to be grass, the greens and blues
and greys of new mown
days; as we walk it carries below
blown breezes on tiptoe,
bends
with clouds’ knees, snow.

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Thanks to those who got to the end!  And apologies for any sense of  burden.  Thoughts welcome. 

PS photo is mine.