Poem Oak

Bare scribbles of its branches
written on the sky
hanging grey and aching for snow.
Broken lexicon of bark fissures
another shard of poetry
exchanged between soil and sky.
Sparse and cold with truth and beauty.

***

Copyright © 2013 Elizabeth Cutts

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s