Fir Tree

 

 

firtree

She seems a mute woman
wrapped in ragged green,
watching birds drag
the last of afternoon’s flame
through orchard trees. Wings fan
an approaching chill
and she leans against their sky
feeling wind tilt
the first star eastward.
Light twinges like her spine
attuned to the wild creche
of woods and fieldstone wall
where vines spill over
the fossiled rock,
and evening breathes
soft as a sleeping infant.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s