Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Leaves of Oak

When I squint my eyes,
I can see the sunlight play
Across the tattered beige
Of the camouflage nets
And imagine frost-etched
Leaves of oak,
Clinging to branches unshed.

So if I close my eyes, then
Maybe I can imagine this
As nothing more than a walk
Through the forests of Hiawatha,
December stinging my skin


Blogger cinnabari said...


10:17 PM  
Anonymous Carla said...

I'm grateful you're still alive. Grateful for your posts. Grateful you've got Anne. You'll be home for Christmas again. In the meantime, keep taking good care of yourself.

4:53 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I agree with cinnabari. Vivid.

7:49 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

hey! this was beautiful. a little different than what im used of yours, but none the less i like it

x trish

4:48 PM  
Blogger dorsano said...

This is great. A lot of words stick out and make a vivid impression, "squit", "tattered", "clinging", "frost-etched", "stinging", and the closing oxymoron.

Thanks. It's a pleasure to read.

6:14 AM  

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