concurrent

little stashes , the last of the lasts
folded into bags,box stuffed, dug

up from hiding .  squirrels to nuts
 in winter, the water table sinks and rises

with the coming of the green, the going
 the gone  of the green, hurricane tied

light the bong, remember this wood.
it's time to get cigarettes and mail

the packages you sold last week.
don't worry about the bumps on the way

new virus incubating, maybe old
age. but really, the st. john's flows  north.

.