The Fall Wood

The fall wood has gone mad,
as if the strong wind had
cleared it of its clinging sanity:
red leaves hewn from limbs and strewn ’round me.
     And you,
     you too,
with me in rasping cacophony

Roots reach to the earth,
their trunks of small girth
embracing each other in a sudden fashion;

I have been witness to your moments of passion,
your fleeting secret meetings,
from behind the forest’s screenings.
You stripped each other under a pine,
though we all know Mercedes is mine-
     yet I would withdraw.

Then the wind came.
First I could tame
it’s spine-chilling claw,
but the wind explained to me
my problem was like a tree,
     and I had my saw.

The dying leaves wailing,
but still the wind’s galeing,
dragging them in eddies across the ground
to lonesome places they won’t be found.
     And the wind dies down.

If you’d like a letterpress broadside of this poem, contact me at peterqj@quinn-jacobs.org.

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About CobraQuiz

A political writer.
This entry was posted in Book Art, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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