if persephone

could
she would dance under seas,
northerly,
with the dead in Doggerland or
with goddess speed
walk west to freshwater Great Lakes
visiting the shipwrecked.
In the north we stain our dead with iron and copper.
There are no pomengranates.
The waters like clouds float above the dark earth.
Oceans, seas, rivers, lakes, and dreams...
Come Persephone! They cry.
After all,
it's our winter too.