Play Time

Following tracks into the brush is
a losing game.
They disappear under
yellow to brown leaves,
broken branches and
into damp earth during the dying season.

All things wear down,
become broken,
gasp for savior breath—lose it.

Decayed tracks create the future,
keep earth lush,
pillow claws, hooves and roots—
while generations seek
sun and cover
after being put in play.

When moon and river collide
beyond mirroring,
branches begin to mend their breaks,
wind raises the disintegrated
beyond ash and dirt;
heaven begins and
we praise the breath
sent for the next game.
This time we catch it
in the clearing under
a fresh sky.


Poem by Keri Hakan

Keri Hakan was born and raised in Missouri but has called Oregon home for 11 years. She has a B. A. in English Literature, a minor in Philosophy, and a certificate in Holistic Nutrition. Her poems have appeared in Windfall a journal of Poetry of Place, past editions of Tiny Seed Journal, The Upper Left Edge paper, and The Corvallis Advocate paper. She has also had poems featured in collaborative artists projects with The Elisabeth Jones Art Center in Portland, Oregon.