Shells
I stood by an oak tree in fall
Trying to capture its beauty
The leaves afire with color
The branches balding slowly
But I couldn’t.
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No words could speak this sudden bereavement
Where the coming cold turns the world ablaze.
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Acorns were strewn on the ground.
The squirrels had gouged them for nuts
Discarding shell fragments.
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Words are these shells
Rubble, shards, flotsam
Of the world in its changing.
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I chose the task of fitting them together
Trying to show how the world vanishes
And bursts into flame at the same time.