Friday, October 12, 2018

I am bare branches (Day 632)


I am bare branches, streaked with moss 
and damp-darkened, north-facing shadows.
I am that secret place—there, all the way up 
—where a bird's nest rested securely through 
a summer’s worth of thunderstorms, and 
where, now, only a few strands of yellowing 
weeds waver in the wind.
I am a shade-strewn evening porch, overlooking 
an emerald expanse of tender grass, 
soon to be blanketed by a crystal sheet of ice 
or the white-hot kiss of winter's first snow.
I am the unwritten poem, rising, subsiding, 
always just out of sight, known but unrecognizable, 
a season of shifting light and midnight frost, 
of dreams lost to the joy of waking, and, this time, 
I am taking my own sweet time.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Hernán Piñera/Flickr (CC BY-SA 2.0)