The Forest Book

An index of first growth,
             bound in curled leaf,
             a glossary of shadow

over the deep crunched floor
             of cone ,splinter and spruce.
             Coda; the glass

of silence is often broken,
             lost words seek
             the brown narrative of winter,

the best time
             to read the trees, the text.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

Poem

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