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
terra
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
trees
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.