a winter tangent

 

here is a point of dirt

with rocks sprouting out

 

and trees digging in.

here wet leaves cling

 

along the ridge to moss

and mud, crackled grass, and

 

the twitter of birds blows

by in the wind. from

 

here the globe falls

away. bark climbs

 

into the sky.

 

 

 

  Published in The Lyricist, Vol. XIV, Spring 1980

 

Copyright James Phoenix 2017

updated 5/7/2017