Something I penned in my absence this fall.
Endless Oak
The Oak divides worlds:
The world of
the leaves browning evening
At the edges
Like smoldering paper.
Green incense drifts down into
The world of
The squirrel gnawing at
the bitter yellow innards
of the never-born.
A deer runs through with a blue mist
And the noise is
The world of
thundering gods, who
watch the oak to tell them messages,who
hang from the oak to teach them spells.
They drink from the water at the roots
On a ground that seems miles below.
An oak makes worlds.
There is space for our forest
Between them all.
((This has been another visit to
Seed's Poetry Corner, brought to you today by my final for my poetry workshop.))
