Pine limbs, oak limbs divvy up
shafts of sunlight as rain sifts
Grass grows slick. As if ice-cased,
bamboo shimmers in glissando.
Leaves blaze. Each drop that clings
holds the image of what is above,
what is below. Each wells,
is rounded, encompasses the most
just before it tremors, tumbles.
Drumbeats on the broad-leafed ginger
tic quick as stitched trills of steel,
granite, magnesium in a brook’s bend.
Rain drifts in broad, even sheets,
snuggles in, mingles with roots.
My mouth falls open to sing
the silent notes of awe.
Poem by Ed Ruzicka
Ed Ruzicka’s most recent book of poems “My Life in Cars” investigates the rocky marriage of desire to the American highway. Ed’s poems have appeared in the Atlanta Review, Rattle, Canary, the Xavier Review and many other literary publications. Ed has been a finalist for the Dana Award, the New Millennium Award and others. Ed lives with his wife, Renee, in Baton Rouge, LA. More at: http://edrpoet.com/poems.html//edrpoet.com/poems.html