White Sofa in the Woods

Like a toadstool springs up
overnight from a dead log,
 
it was simply there, pure white
against early greening brush
 
and charcoal trees, crystalized
perhaps from melted snow.
 
No tracks in surrounding mud,
no sign of its trek from civilization. 
 
No scratch or snag from thorns
despite wild rose and briar already
 
twining around its legs.  It faced
the lowering sun while every tree
 
in the acre leaned away – beech,
sweet gum, scrubby oak.  It took
 
its place like spring’s
first ashen flower.
 

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