October 18

comments 2

In enough fog this house
is a treehouse, everything
come in close,

a leaf recoils
from an unseen drop
of rain,

only reaction
visible, here, there,
the leaves ring,

and it’s all too simple
to forget antecedents,
the silence is lazy

-making, the forest
immense, the pines
too water-laden to stir

at all, and maybe it’s
the same with you.



  1. I’ve been away from WordPress a week or so, so I wanted to catch up on your poetry. No time to do all : ) Always so good. Stanzas four and six are perfect.


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