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