Brief minutes before
I get mother
from bed to chair
I stare at the creek
high for this year
and the crabapples
late at this altitude
having just lost their pink.
Perhaps trees
lose their minds, too,
their beautiful thoughts
as the years rise
longer than normal
in this late spring.
copyright (c) 2010 Barry G. Wick
A Poetics of Cold
6 years ago
No comments:
Post a Comment