Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Random Acts of Poetry

noir tree


We, man and woman,
decided last evening
to impersonate dark trees.

Our elbows
were the crooks of branches.
Our feet disappeared in the dirt.

My thoughts hardened
to wood. You hardly breathed for fear
of roosting nightbirds.

We went too far in the forest.
By morning our fingers
scratched at the sky.

To the whack of an ax
we drank our warm rain,
mindless and mum to the root.

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