i never can remember what comes after
the path into the pines, whether
the trail loops back to its beginning
or winds even deeper into the woods.
All articles filed in nature poetry
honey yet to be
the bees are at the zinnias,
fuzzy bodies buzzing
among pink-freckled petals
osage orange
the old osage orange hedge
still marches perpendicular to the road
marking the boundary line of a farmstead
long since swallowed up by atomic age homes.
bared
in winter the trees
show their secrets
the stubborn oaks
the roses are sleeping
beneath the blanket of leaves the wind
has knitted and ripped from the trees.
numina
how You bend the universe
to meet me where i least expect it —
root & leaf
these leaves had roots once.
this sheaf was a forest
(or a tree)
and birds nested
in its branches,
squirrels cannoned
from limb to limb
with death-defying grace.
i suppose you have trees
the evening sun set the oak leaves glowing
like bronze against the still-blue sky,
and i wished i could show you
how beautiful it was, could explain
why i wished i could show you.
network
the young grass stands slight
and fragile against the cold.
wind
all day long
the wind has been
scouring the trees;
now the lawn is thick
with bronzed leaves of oak,
tender yellow of maple,
wild red and orange
and byzantium of gum.