a poem for Peter Kidd
by debora Ewing
i buried you tonight
with a full moon and Jupiter
in a stump beside
that stubborn trumpet vine
mixed by my own hand
you were so proud of me you said
in the coming seasons
man-eaters will root your skin
this ritual is nothing
an indulgent smile
like a face in the moon
might have inhaled a little
for doc blossom
3.7.2023
Annandale
