morning poem, December 7, 2016




Cardinals under the Holly tree

In the winter morning sun

Red birds, red berries

Like they are of a piece

As if they came to this land of green and grey

From the same bright place


The last of the leaves lay in the grass

The color of saddle leather

A man walking his dog

The dog balks and pulls at his leash

And the man gently resists



The giant oaks across the street

Are bare and white in the bright morning

And quiet as sages, who know

But know that warning would be futile


What was here when they first sprouted?

Pasture, forest, meadow, field

Some farmhouse full of children?


A truck rolls along the road

A patchwork body, three different colors

Ladders on the back


The distant clouds are faint, long and curved

Like plucked eyebrows


copyright 2016

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