is there such a thing as seasonal "effective" poetry?   

county creek eyelet 

Harvey S. Mozolak

words written with the churning flow

of an early spring mountain stream

reaching the piedmont

where it slows the flow

to eddy and feed the red clay

with life that wiggles 

almost imperceptibly with the rapidity

rocks wove miles and months ago

winter’s limp leaves and storm-stripped pine

aground a decaying line

graying green at the undisturbed edge

stepped into it swirls 

around the wet walking boots like roots

the untying shoe laces

looking for the march

into April of furtive fin and feather