Either you are sorting it out, or you are full of it.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009


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.

No words could speak this sudden bereavement

Where the coming cold turns the world ablaze.

Acorns were strewn on the ground.

The squirrels had gouged them for nuts

Discarding shell fragments.

Words are these shells

Rubble, shards, flotsam

Of the world in its changing.

I chose the task of fitting them together

Trying to show how the world vanishes

And bursts into flame at the same time.

posted by ferret at 3:56 am  

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