The fuzz could be kept better on that grey squirrel’s tail

In fact, it’s almost blue at the tip,

and frazzled;

It’s the sun warming down canary yellow

Cardinals, bought and sold

with a crust

Of bread

thrown down on foliage carelessly

It landed, and is hidden by the deep


brown of the fallen

leaves behind it

Fallen from its source, its partner, sky.

Combing through this woodland waits.  A song is

here, eternity could pass

this afternoon, but the toiling is not ours

Passion and exertion fall to the fault lines, as-

phalt, Crust

decays with the blame of dying


so tall,

in the heavens

they span this wispy hollow

And create it

The breeze lays over them a spell

Rustles their feathers, hues their gold

in amber, answer, red.

And yellow.

A whistling of an echo sounds

in my ear The sun cools down.

Never to

return in my midst,

I intrude

in the flurry of woods

we lose each other’s name as

visions of you

call dryly, carelessly

In seeing, it is there.

But trees fell bravely long before

A human ever dared.


-Sam Kaspar


Born in Canada, I live, work, row, and hike in the US. I most enjoy crafting around a hopefully memorable core which formed the initial reason I felt it was worth writing in the first place. Ultimately, even brilliant ideas are useless if they cannot be conveyed eloquently, hence poetry.