Afternoon – Page 54

an aging oak tree-
all our sins laid bare beneath
the outstretched branches
–
a shoe in the grass-
the tire swing
motionless

the sky badly bruised
sitting beneath the mottled
colors of sundown
–
roiling-
iron clouds
hanging low

the burning forests-
gaia’s tears turn to embers
borne off by the wind
–
peals of thunder-
rain falling
on a wild fire

the wind in your hair
miles unspooling behind us
escaping our past
–
needle and thread-
finding holes
in a spider’s web

flurries of spring snow-
aspen seeds riding the wind
drifting in the sun
–
iron anvils-
the thickening
of august

the patter of rain-
rocking to the rhythm of
the impending storm
–
on the porch-
the evening air
thick with rain

hand in hand with you
standing by the river’s edge
watching the drawbridge
–
tinted sunlight-
walking across
a fallen tree

northern white cedars
defying all odds, clinging
to the bare cliff face
–
crying gulls-
hatchling turtles
race to the sea

shellshocked and bleeding-
wandering the husk of a
demolished building
–
floating ash-
Nothing left but
deafening silence

salty air, your hair
blown about your face by the
wind off the water
–
rising smoke-
below decks
on the ferry.