lichen

the lichen, like green smoke
thickens on the branches
as winter waters come

birds still flit in the trees
and a red squirrel
clawed down the trunk
head-first, towards the
nut box, defying gravity
its bushy tail
spread out behind it
fur darkening to winter brown

damp, raw day,
moonlight overnight,
and a warm bed as my
husband's body
gives off heat and
solidity:  promise
of a new day, countdown
to the year's end

previous poem

next poem