Roads branchinto lanesbearing fruitof tiny farms,a patchwork quilt.Ten thousand feet. Angelsblow smokeover the hills,settlesin ravines.Twenty thousand feet. A thin bandof yellow and red,smudgesthe horizon–blue above, gray below.Thirty thousand feet. Angelic smokenow covers all,an untaut blanketrippled with wavesfrozen in time.Forty thousand feet. The white carpetwelcomesHis entrance,too brightin my window.And holding.
My heart had died,strangled, beaten,desire eaten by disease;black and blue, but crimsonseeped out.Like fallen tinder on trace ember,His gentle breath—hushes turned rhythmic glow.The threads of a cloud,its weave pulled apartby the light;one ray becomes two,two rays become seven.Hope is.
Homeowners Association GestapoYou can’t park there.My temples throb. Take a breath.I can. I live here. Sunshine DirtThrough shadowy websof branches on earth’s canvassunshine on dirt. KeyboardHard, dusty plastic.White on black staring back at me.Intimidation.
Leaves green in summercome flutter in fall.Oak, Cherry once richsurviving stand tall. Drab split-hardened skinscared naked exposed.Arms reaching to heav’ndread long dark and cold. Fearful of winter?Forgetful of spring?Hope fades but a wink.To rebirth you must cling. Blood pearls on Hollysmooth waxy rich green.Triumphant sweet Pine!Faith steadfast wise tree. Breathe forth sacred snownorth winds from … More Tree Wise of Winter
Brock Stephen Henning 