Tree Speak
Disheartened by a hole in Cyprus soldiers
Brittle and dry, skin like sand paper cartilage and molasses
Maple, missions failed on the back lot, fallen, like branches on a sandbar
A flicker of golden deliverance through clouds of underbrush
And a vine looses itself beyond the moor
Devils, pale green, hidden from sight, whispering victories on the North side
To anyone who’ll listen
Cones and lavender satchels are all that remain
Carried, great distances, by a trickling brook
Or a rushing bride
Quick to marry the remembered, and the forgotten
In transient harmony
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