Of this tree stump, sagging
where a fine craft once emerged
like ideas
or leaves that cling to a boot,
when wet enough to be
hospitable,
still give us nothing.
From these roots that now feed none,
I once emerged
by chance
bright green and turned to the sun
hungry in youthful greed
until I browned
on the seasoned path to Fall.
Of once high limbs, an absence
(
Read more... )