I wanted to write
a murder mystery poem
something of a
diversion
from my romanticism with nature
I tried writing as detectives think
leafing through evidence
piece by piece
while the dead man, eyes open
stares at the police
the murderer’s name knotted
in his closed throat
a phone cord
around his neck
body hardening by the second
But mysteries are complex
and I’m not the writer
to mastermind a crime
that needs to be cracked
by the end of this poem
Because of my inability
a fictitious murderer
is on the loose
his tight grip
around another’s throat
while I’m here looking at trees
thinking about
how pastel green
spring is appearing
as the dead man hardens more