Wednesday, October 16, 2019

Of Faith




From the dark side
of the sunlit glass,
I watch a squirrel,
without fear, leap
from one trunk
to another tree's limb

Does her stomach drop
as the slim arm bends
down in surprise
and back up again?

Or is she merely an arrow
—the spoke of one thought—
indifferent to autumn's
vainglorious shouts

fixed on the task
of a half-complete nest
where the work of her body
must purse like a comma,
pausing—
and pregnant —
with what comes  — 

after the tree 
has jettisoned its leaves
and the snow falls silent 
and godless
and cold 


4 comments:

the walking man said...

If the cold is silent and godless then many, MANY, people are well and truly fucked. Living in winter all year long seems to me to be a growing part of the human condition, shedding leaves and baring trunks has become a year long occupation.

Somtoochukwu Benedict Ezioha said...

Wonderful poem.

hiroo said...

I love your poems here and on Twitter. I hope you consider posting on our poetry app as well! hirooaoy.com/ponder-beta

Chris Baldwin said...

Wonderful poem.
I can tell I'm going to enjoy looking through your posts.