and the blue spruce cathedral
in the yard I remember
it was a mottled brown
with a low-pitched hooting
over darkening fields
and those weighted boughs
whirling like foaming surf
snow is such a religious experience
we forgot how evil it could be
once inside the nave of branches
I remember the spreading ajuga
its blue racemes in the spring
bringing bees from several counties
to chant their bright orisons
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