Dirge for a tree

Born green in a flawed yard, in
speckled thickets
of fog-
Bonewhite in a peephole letting
in the nightlong
and the sounds of obsolete crickets,
A barren branch
sleeps with its dried veins in silting
soil and unmade
mud
Cloaked by a lidless sky
and the sounds of worms on
the lips of a toad
– – –
A wooded deer in a cunning
eats its bark
over and over the old age, no
life for a while
Each breathing gesture drains like
water down a
warren
fleeing in its alley holes down to
the wall
of the sea- into the cellars of
waves,
Into the small nostrils of sand and
the pots of fish.

Copyright © 03/24/17 lance sheridan®

image

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4 comments on “Dirge for a tree

  1. Barbara says:

    Lance this writing is an example of your great writing skills, your voice fuels the struggling of a tree to live in its conditions – the images are truly magnificent – profound & excellent!

  2. Polly says:

    ‘Cloaked by a lidless sky and the sound of worms on the lips of a toad’…just great! I love this vivid, solid sense of living-yet-dying

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