POEM: SILVER LINING / WINTERWOOD / PEAR TREE

Like a silver spoon in soup
The spirit of your weathered work

Red and glowing
New and knowing
Arriving at the start

And the intersecting bits bode well
To reveal the tanned
Tread of the wind

Dust and clouds
Silk and shrouded
Roads know where to begin

What are the chances your novel
Descends from precipitation
To the right hands?

Busy and braided
Time has raided
Our cupboards of all quiet

What is the way to regain
The indigo insight
Our kind has lost?

Gathered and green
Young and teeming
With hunger guiding us to the end

---

Extending from the leftmost
Space, I can see blankets

Of pine needles
Laying on an earth table

With the most fragile and stern
Stance, the winter trees ponder

To mine with roots
Or turn to catch rare glimpses of sunlight

Bark prints a crackly gap patterns
Ascending to the uttermost

Beyond my eye I look up
To see

Where the tree and air
Is thin

---

I am stuck in a moment
Of identity

Seeing how much space
Is left for me

Have I been consumed by my
Prickly pears

Dangling from my
Brown tree?

Or am I shifting to grow
And know how to house

The rarest of birds
Hunting for shelter

From the predator
Fixed on their meal?

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