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Saturday, January 12, 2013

Trees...he is a speck


Trees

 
 
he is a speck

moving across

your white sea


a shape
 
shifting

stopping

to reconnoiter

before moving on

to the next spot

where fish might

be waiting

hours pass

during which I wonder

does he ponder

his current state

and the fact that

if not for the ice

he wouldn't be

there

at all

or does he look at you

around him

what can you
be thinking
ringing the pond
that way

bare bones

against

an equally bare sky

where the sun

does not lie

but shows all


he leaves once

goes ashore

then returns to sit

and waits

and waits

one jot

on a bare canvas

one man

alone

with that sky

with that stillness

then he is gone

no trace of him

from this distance

other than

a tiny memory

shadow

there

on a white

waveless sea

and

that stillness