The fuzz could be kept better on that grey squirrel’s tail
In fact, it’s almost blue at the tip,
It’s the sun warming down canary yellow
Cardinals, bought and sold
with a crust
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-
decays with the blame of dying
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.
A whistling of an echo sounds
in my ear The sun cools down.
return in my midst,
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.
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.